The Triumph of These Tired Eyes
by AnarchicMuse
Summary: In his several millennia of existence Loki Odinson, God of Mischief and Lies, had been many things; he had been a liar, a warrior, and a trickster, just to name a few, but never before had he been a loving father, he'd never been given the chance. However, the moment the tiny creature was in his arms, he knew he would do anything necessary to keep hold of what was his.
1. Chapter One

It started with a shiver, a subtle quaking that began at the base of his spine and slithered its way up the length of his back, between his shoulder blades, and through his ribs. It sought out his heart, sliding through the blood in his veins and the marrow in his bones and it _squeezed_. His ears rang with a cry, a tinny wail as faint and insubstantial as the breeze it rode upon. No one had heard the sound, the cry had been meant only for his ears.

He knew this feeling, the sudden buzz of disquiet that made his knee bounce and his fingers twitch with restless energy. It wasn't magic, not the sort he was used to at least, but something older, far more primal; he could count the times he'd experienced this sensation on one hand and still have a finger to spare. He wanted to run from the room, find the source of the feeling; he knew it would take him no more than an hour to find it, but even that was an hour too long. They were feasting, celebrating yet another battle he had not bothered to remember the name of, his absence would be noticed and, if this was what he believed it to be, he could not risk being followed, could not risk being found out.

So he waited for the three days and three nights it took for the revelries to end, for the halls to clear and for his family and comrades to depart, well fed and happy. Only then did he run, bypassing the road of glittering lights that led to the golden observatory, he delved into the darkness of the mountains and through his secret passageway. He landed on Midgard, a realm he had not stepped foot on in many months, and allowed this age old instinct to lead him to cottage that was tucked away in a quiet village and cloaked in seidr.

He didn't make a sound as he entered the cozy home and climbed the carpeted staircase; the door to the room closest to him was cracked open, allowing the sound of soft breaths and incoherent mumbles of those deeply asleep to drift out into the corridor. He slid past the cracked doorway without waking its occupants and stalked to the room just across the hall. This door had been left wide open, allowing him easy access into the carefully decorated nursery; it was done up in pale creams and navy blues with an impressively accurate depiction of a forest surrounding the large bay window on the far wall. On the shelf mounted on the wall directly across him, surrounded by various infant related objects, was a manmade replica of some sort of scaly, reptilian creature whose maw glowed with heatless flames. The unconventional light source took the edge off of the shadows and spilled soft, golden light upon the impossibly small creature curled among a nest of brightly colored blankets.

He approached the cot slowly, trepidation shortening his stride and weighting his step, and yet it still took only a handful of steps before he was peering over the edge of the bassinet. The child was awake, he was emitting quiet chirping sounds as tiny fists waved agitatedly above him. However the moment he caught sight of the stranger looking down upon him, his little face screwed up in a gummy smile and he let out a sound that sounded suspiciously like a coo.

The band that had sat tight around his chest slowly eased until he could breathe easy once again, and yet his heart still stuttered and his fingers continued to tremble as he reached out to run a gentle hand over fine hair. There wasn't much there, only a light fuzz that barely covered the child's head, but it was dark as pitch and just as slick. The babe's face was still soft and round with youth, but he could pick out the exact points where it would sharpen, were his cheekbones would protrude and jawline would slope, granting him the elegant attraction of one of noble blood. And then there were the eyes, _green_ eyes, large and bright and so curious. Those were his eyes, that was his face, this was _his son_.

Hands, that were suddenly and inexplicably steady, carefully lifted the child from his cot and cradled him against his chest. "Hello," he murmured, carefully cupping a large hand behind the child's head to ensure his neck was properly supported. "I'm not entirely certain what these mortals have been telling you, but I am your father, your _real_ father."

The child responded with a nonsensical but no less cheerful gurgle, that brought a small smile to his face. "Ah, you cannot yet speak, but fear not, a few more years and you will be ruling the masses through the power of your silver tongue alone."

Fingers tangled in the fabric of his tunic, while a tiny fist rubbed into tired, green eyes and pink lips stretched into a yawn. He began pacing a few meters in each direction, adding a bit of bounce to each step as he quietly hummed a melody his mother had sang to him many times when he was young. He wasn't entirely sure how to do this, it had been centuries since he'd been so close to a child so small but whatever it was he was doing seemed to be working; the gentle rocking and the soft tenor of his voice slowly lulled the child to sleep. The babe was secure in Niorun's grasp within minutes, and yet he found himself unable to replace him in his cot, just the thought of releasing his son left him feeling cold and bereft.

Of course, his feeling on the matter wound up mattering very little as, only a few minutes later, the choice was taken from him. From the room across the hall came the rustle of displaced sheets then a sleepy, confused murmur. He stopped his pacing for a moment to focus on the words being exchanged between the couple in the other room.

"…been a few hours since he's made a sound," a man was saying. "I'm just going to check in on him. Make sure he's all right."

"If you wake the baby, I will end you," an exhausted female responded.

There was a creak of the wooden bed frame, then the quiet thumping of approaching footsteps. A man, dark hair tousled from either sleep or bad genetics entered the room, he immediately stopped short when his gaze landed on the unfamiliar man. "What…?" Sleep heavy, hazel eyes widened. "Lily!"

The urgent bark of his voice drew the other rooms occupant immediately, the man's wife was by her partner's side in a matter of seconds, carrying a stick of intricately carved wood in each hand.

Forest green eyes darkened with dread as they flickered from the man's face to the child cradled in his arms. "Loki."

The man in question inclined his head as he allowed a small smile to touch the corner of his lips. "Lily-fire." The woman tensed at the moniker. "It's been some time, I see you've been busy."

Lily frowned, clearly not in the mood for pleasantries. "What do you want? What are you doing here?"

Loki sighed, as if disappointed by the queries. "I'd been under the impression that, along with an extraordinarily lovely face and quite a talented mouth, you also possessed a brain. Why don't you take a guess?"

Lily's face hardened at the unsubtle jab but she answered nonetheless. "Harry."

Loki looked down at the child curled against his chest, still sound asleep. "Is that what he's called? _Harry?_ That certainly won't do, it's entirely to dull. What is his full name?"

"Harry James Potter."

"_James Potter_, hm? The boyfriend."

"Husband now, actually," the hazel eyed man cut in.

"Mazel tov," Loki said dryly. "Tell me, _James Potter_, why would you name the result of a love affair between your partner and another man after yourself?"

"It wasn't an _affair_, and it certainly had nothing to do with _love,_" James snapped. "We were going through a rough time, both of us did things we weren't proud of. But we've worked past it, I won't have you reopening old wounds. I named him after myself because we never knew he wasn't mine. We didn't _want _to know because it didn't matter; no matter, who sired him, _I'm _his father, he is my son."

Loki snorted inelegantly. "How touching. Truly, my heart is just…_warm_. It doesn't change the fact that you are so incredibly wrong, a few words and naïve beliefs doesn't change the fact that this is my son, _mine_. You have no claim to him."

"He has every claim to Harry," Lily interjected. "James is my husband, he stood by me through everything despite the mistakes I made. He cared for me during the time I was pregnant, and he's done nothing but love and care for Harry since his birth. It is you who has no claim to him."

The only sign of Loki's anger was the darkening of his eyes, he would like to see these mortals try and keep him from his son. "You seem to forget, Lily-Fire, who and _what _I am. The customs of my people are not like whatever twisted ideologies you mortals now follow; if I so wish, I could take my son, refuse you any visitation, and there isn't a thing you could do about it."

Lily's fingers tightened around her wand until her knuckles turned white. "Is that what you intend to do?" she whispered, a barely perceptible tremor shook her voice. "Are you here to take Harry from me?"

Loki's demeanor shifted infinitesimally, softening in the face of the woman's quiet anguish. "No, that is not what I intend to do. There are no words for how much I long to return home with my son, but I do not wish to put his safety at risk."

"What do you mean?" James asked, placing a steadying hand at the small of his wife's back.

"My father," Loki said delicately. "If he discovers that I have had a son with a mortal he may very well wish to get rid of him."

"Harry is his grandson," Lily protested.

"And I am his son, but that has done nothing to change his feelings regarding me and my children. He will always view them as a threat. No, my son will remain here where he is safest." The boy in his arms stirred and made a quiet noise of discontent, but Loki shushed him and began to gently rock back and forth. "You should not have named him, not without seeking my council, names are powerful things," Loki said when the baby had settled. "I will not take his from him, that would be unfair, however, it will not remain his only title. He will act under the name Harry James Potter for as long as he resides in the world of mortals, it will simply act as another line of defense in keeping his identity secret from my father. But if the time ever comes for him to be introduced upon Asgard, he will be known as Haraldr Ivarr Kaden, Son of Loki."

"I…I will agree to that," Lily said reluctantly.

Loki chuckled, she didn't exactly have a say in the matter, but he appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

He spent a few moments longer absentmindedly rocking Haraldr as he committed the feel of cradling his tiny creation in unworthy arms to memory. "It will soon be time for me to take my leave. If I remain too long my father will notice my absence." He gently replaced Haraldr in his cot, careful to tuck him snugly into his blankets. "I will weave a number of protection spells around him, something to shield him from the sight of my father and his servants. But I am limited in what I can do, I cannot protect my son from everything, not when I am worlds away. Remember that he is no mere mortal, he carries my blood, when your kind find out, and they _will_ whether it be in several days or several years, they will fear him as much as they will want to use him. You must protect him from that, protect him from them and any who seek to do him harm. Swear it."

James and Lily didn't even hesitate before nodding, solemn resolve in the set of their jaws and the spark in their eyes. "We will."

And they did. They died keeping that promise.

* * *

**A/N: Many thanks to Payne's Grey, whose one-shot Mortal Blood was the inspiration for this story. **


	2. Chapter Two

The Dursley family hadn't ever considered themselves to be very religious folk, they only ever attended mass twice a year, once for Easter and once more for Yule, and that was mostly to maintain the façade of being a respectable sort of people. It wasn't for lack of trying, of course, in the early years of their marriage Petunia had strong-armed Vernon into donning his best suit to attend mass every Sunday, as that had been what her parents had done every week leading up to their deaths. But then Dudley had been born and made it quite clear that he didn't appreciate being dragged to the church every Sunday in the most vocal way possible. And so they fell out of the habit until the only time they stepped into church was when it became imperative to maintain appearances.

The Dursley family's lack of true faith, however, had never stopped them from attempting to use the religion as another tool to quell their nephew's more freakish tendencies. For as long as Harry Potter could remember, they'd told him that freaks like him burned in hell and that, if he wished to avoid eternal damnation, he might try and be more like them (i.e. _normal_).

It never really worked, young Harry wasn't a particularly god fearing child, but, what was more, he didn't know the cause behind the occurrences that had led his relatives to label him a freak, let alone how to control them. Weird things just happened around him.

And yet, despite his overall lack of belief in things such as heaven, hell, and an all powerful man in the sky, Harry did believe in angels, more specifically guardian angels. And he knew with all the certainty an eight year old could possess, that he had one looking out for him.

He'd been around as far back as Harry's memory recalled, always there, looking out for him, comforting him whenever Dudley was being particularly cruel or Vernon had tossed him out on his ear for one imagined slight or the other. He always wore a different face, spoke with a different voice, but Harry never failed to recognize him, something about him was unmistakable. There was an aura of otherworldliness about him, one might even call it magical.

Harry never called him out on it though, he feared that the moment he revealed that he knew that the strangers always willing to provide kind words and quiet comfort were all the same person, they'd disappear and never return. So he kept quiet and continued to play along with his angel's game, and for years it worked; they met in some form at least once every week, some visits were planned and some occurred merely by chance (or at least by chance on Harry's part). With every encounter between him and his guardian angel, he found it easier and easier to ignore the vitriolic hatred his relatives sent his way in an almost endless barrage, until he found himself entirely unaffected by their mistreatment.

But then he stopped coming.

Harry and his angel had parted ways one evening with no promises of seeing each other again but with both knowing that they would anyway, but then a week passed and Harry's angel didn't make an appearance, then another, and another until two months had come and gone and Harry hadn't seen anything of his angel. The boy couldn't help but worry, the longest he'd ever gone without seeing his angel was two weeks, had he done something to drive him away? Had he done something wrong?

Without the quiet support of his guardian angel, it became increasingly more difficult not to wilt in the face of his family's scorn. And they seemed to realize that something had changed with him as the frequency and the ferocity of every altercation between Harry and the Dursleys increased nearly tenfold.

"What are you stupid, boy?" Petunia snapped one evening, swooping into the kitchen just as Harry upended a package of minced beef into a sizzling frying pan. "That fire is entirely too high. Are you trying to burn the beef?"

"No, Aunt Petunia," Harry said, dutifully turning the gas stove down.

"I won't have you ruin dinner for Dudley, he's had a hard day at school today."

Harry surreptitiously rolled his eyes as he worked on browning the meat. He knew it would be pointless to remind Petunia that he had also attended school that day, and, considering he'd spent much of it avoiding Dudley and his gang in one way or the other, it was likely his had been far more stressful than the baby Dursley's.

"Not to mention your uncle's had a long day at work and he'll be expecting a warm meal when he returns home."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said monotonously. He barely even flinched when a bony hand whacked him upside his head.

"Don't take that tone with me," Petunia chastised, "or you'll find yourself going to bed without dinner."

Seeing as his usual dinner was a cheese sandwich and a glass of tap water, he didn't feel as if he was really missing out. Of course, if his guardian angel were around the lackluster dinners wouldn't be a problem as he always seemed to have something for him to snack on.

Harry suppressed a melancholy sigh at the reminder of his missing angel. Maybe if he ever came back he'd finally confront him about the fact that he knew who really was, seeing as keeping that a secret obviously hadn't kept him from leaving.

"Get the noodles! They'll be overcooked if you keep them on for much longer."

Harry scrambled to do as his aunt said, knowing that if even one thing wound up burnt or overcooked the consequences would be incongruously severe.

In the end, the meal turned out as near perfect as the eight year old could make it, and yet he still received only a dinner roll and half of a banana for his troubles before being unceremoniously shoved outside. Apparently Vernon had invited his coworker and his wife over for dinner at the very last minute, and, of course, they wanted to keep Harry completely out of sight.

He didn't mind being kicked out at least, for him it meant less time he had to spend locked in his cupboard. It was mid-spring, so it was still pleasantly cool despite the steadily setting sun, he might as well make the short trek over to the park and enjoy his dinner there. And so he did exactly that, working his way through the crumbling piece of bread and browning fruit while pushing himself back and forth on the swing. As far as things went, there were worse ways to be spending the night.

"I'll say, what are you doing out here all alone, young man? It's nearing dark, it's not safe for you to be here without your parents."

Harry startled and nearly toppled off of the swing set with how fast he twisted his body to face the street and the source of the unexpected voice. A man who looked to be in his late sixties with neatly combed, silver hair, impossibly long legs, and a surprisingly straight back for a man his age was watching him from just outside the park, waiting patiently for an answer to his questions.

Harry blinked several times, forcing himself to look past the man's outward appearance, searching for something deeper; it was all too easy to fool a man's eyes through careful trickery and disguise, what he was looking for was not so easily hidden. Harry had no word for it, though there were certainly many in existence, all that he knew was that, when he finally found the soft pulse that thrummed with an electric kind of energy and yet crackled with an ice cold calm, his heart _sang_. The energy belonged only to one being, his angel was back.

"It's you," he gasped, scrambling from the swing and hurrying to the silver haired man's side. "You're back."

For a moment, the man looked caught off guard. "Pardon? Have we met before?"

Harry nodded fervently, not allowing the innocent question to throw him off. His angel was only pretending not to know him after all. "Yes, we have. You take care of me and watch over me whenever Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon are mean to me. I know I'm not supposed to know who you are, but you've been gone for so long and I was worried."

"Know who I am…?" the man blinked rapidly. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Can we please just not pretend?" Harry begged. "Not today? Not after you've been gone so long. I swear I'll go back to pretending to not know who you are tomorrow, but can we just be ourselves tonight?"

The man's brow furrowed. "Who is that you think I am?"

Harry hesitated, suddenly reluctant to speak the truth aloud. But when the man gave him a curious look, clearly expecting some sort of answer from him, he gathered his resolve and spoke what he'd been dying to say for years. "My guardian angel."

"Is that so?" a contemplative frown furrowed his angel's brow as he moved to seat himself on one of the rusting swings. "I'm neither confirming nor denying your assumption, but how long have you been aware of my presence?"

Harry hurried to seat himself on the swing beside the angel. "For a few years now," he explained. "I think I've always been able to recognize you, but it wasn't until I was older that I really understand what it meant, or who you were."

"That being a guardian angel?"

Harry nodded.

"What led you to believe in such a thing? You don't strike me as the sort to believe in that kind of thing."

"I never really believed in the church stuff my aunt wanted me to, you know God and Satan and the like, but a guardian angel doesn't have to come specifically from heaven. You could be a regular human, born to earth and not heaven or whatever someone wants to believe in, but you're nice to me, you give me food when I'm hungry and gifts when I'm sad, that can count as a guardian angel if I want it to."

"That is….You are astoundingly astute for one so young."

"I'm not _that _young," Harry frowned. "I'll be nine in a few months, I'm almost a teenager."

Harry's angel looked vaguely unsettled by this for some reason. "Yes, I suppose you are," he murmured.

Harry idly pushed himself on his swing for a few minutes, slowly working up the courage to ask the question that had been nagging him since the very start of this encounter. "So are you?" he finally asked. "My guardian angel that is?"

"From what you said earlier, I think you've already got that decided."

"That's a yes then?"

The man hummed noncommittally.

Harry huffed in frustration, but let it go for the time being. "Why me?" he asked instead. "Why spend years looking out for a stranger without ever revealing who you were?"

"You are no stranger," the man said. "I've known you since you were a babe, I was…familiar with your parents, your mother specifically. When they passed, I wanted to keep a close eye on you."

"But why keep it a secret? Why go through the trouble of disguising yourself? And how were you able to disguise yourself so well for that matter?"

"Where I live, there is conflict between my family and myself. I did not wish to endanger you by coming to you while wearing my true face. As for how I was able to disguise myself," the man smiled mischievously, "magic."

Harry scoffed disbelievingly. "Magic doesn't exist."

"I'll have you known that it does indeed exist. Tell me, young Harry, how were you able to recognize me? It's been proven on many occasion that my disguises are near infallible."

"I don't know, it's a feeling I suppose." Harry shrugged. "Something about how you feel is different. I'm not explaining it very well."

"Quite the contrary, as a matter of fact. You're explaining it very well. And what of the things that so often get you in trouble with your relatives, the 'freakish' occurrences you're frequently punished for?"

Harry's eyes widened. "You know about that?"

"The entire neighborhood knows about it," the man said, face dark, "your relatives have so kindly seen to that. I am the only one who knows it for what it truly is."

"Magic," Harry repeated incredulously.

"Indeed. You didn't truly believe that being able to make things disappear when you no longer wished to see them or quite literally freeze when you so wished it to was _normal_."

"Well, I knew it wasn't normal, but I didn't ever consider the fact that it was magic," Harry said. "If that was true I would have turned my relatives into frogs a long time ago."

A small smile quirked his guardian angel's lips. "You didn't believe it to be magic because your aunt and uncle have spent nearly your entire life drilling it into your head that such a thing doesn't exist."

"But why?"

"Because they're afraid of it? Perhaps even a bit jealous. Those who are so extraordinarily ordinary most often are."

Harry frowned, seriously contemplating what this strange man was telling him. Films and television shows involving anything of the supernatural variety had been banned from the Dursleys household a long time ago (much to Dudley's chagrin), but Vernon and Petunia couldn't control what Harry read whilst at school and so he had a fairly good idea of what magic was supposed to look like. He had to admit that some of the things he'd done by accident when scared or angry fit well with the powers he'd seen some of the heroes in comic books utilizing.

"I'd like a bit of proof, if it's not too much trouble," he told the older man. "A demonstration, maybe."

Much to Harry's relief, his angel didn't seem upset by his demand, only amused. "What would you like to see?" he asked.

"What can you do?"

"A bit of everything, I'd like to think. Though illusions are my specialty."

Between one blink and another, Harry found himself surrounded by exact replicas of himself. Seven copies of himself stood in a loose circle around him and his companion.

"They're insubstantial," the man explained as Harry reached out to touch one only for his hand to pass through it as if it weren't even there. "Tricks of the light."

"What else can you do?" Harry asked, slightly awestruck.

"My disguises. As I told you earlier they are a result of magic, more specifically shapeshifting." There was a barely distinguishable shimmer of bright green before an entirely different man stood before him. He was just tall and put together as the older man, but his hair was inky black and pulled back into a neat tail at the back of his head. Everything about him reeked of old money, from the expensive looking coat arranged over his immaculate, black suit, to the confident tilt of his chin to the straight line of his back.

Harry took an involuntary step back, drinking in the man's appearance with silent confusion. "Is this what you really look like?"

"Yes," the man nodded, "this is my true face."

"You look…you look like me." And he did, the bright green of his eyes, the inky sheen of his hair, even the faint angles to his face were all entirely too much like Harry's. They weren't identical, but the similarities were there and they were unmistakable.

"We do share a striking resemblance, don't we?"

"We do," Harry agreed. "How did you say you knew my parents again? You said you were familiar with my mother. How familiar?"

The man shifted in a way that could be considered uneasily. "We were old friends."

"You're lying," Harry refuted almost immediately.

"Am I? How can you be so sure?"

The boy shrugged evasively. "I've always been good at spotting lies. How did you know my mother?"

Harry's companion laughed quietly, he shook his head in silent wonderment. "I've said it once but I'll say it again, you are astoundingly astute for one so young. I suppose I only have myself to blame for that, though.

"I met your mother purely by chance. I'm not sure if you can tell, but I'm not from around here, I was only visiting the…area because I was in search of something, _someone_. For a short period of time, I was quite taken with her; she managed to persuade me to remain for a while longer without ever really having to ask."

"I don't understand," Harry frowned.

"We were together. Intimate. Though it was never anything romantic, it was all purely physical."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'm not trying to say _anything,_" the man said. "I did not come here with the intention of revealing myself to you."

"But you have. You _are_. What are you trying to say?"

The man gave him a look, it wasn't angry, but it wasn't particularly happy either. If anything, it was contemplative. He was assessing him, silently sizing him up to see if he deserved any kind of answer. Something in the firm set of Harry's jaw and the hard light in his eye must have convinced him as a small, somewhat challenging, smile stretched across his face. "What I'm trying to say is that you've been lied to nearly your entire life, not on purpose perhaps, I don't believe your relatives knew anything other than what they'd been told, but that does not change the fact that you've been left blind to your true heritage.

"James Potter wasn't your father. I am."

Harry didn't even hesitate before saying. "I don't believe you."

A surprised chuckle burst from the man's mouth, it was obvious that, of all the responses he'd been expecting, that was not among them. "Is that so? Do you require some sort of proof?"

Harry nodded sharply. "That would be a good place to start."

"I'm sorry to say that I have none, other than what you've been presented with thus far. Your good looks, your abilities, your magic are all traits passed down from me. It doesn't take much intelligence to note these similarities and what they could mean."

"We look alike, we've already come to an agreement on that," Harry conceded. "But I'm still not entirely sold on this magic, it could be a trick or something."

"A trick you've been playing on yourself your entire life?" the man challenged. "You and I both know that the freezing and the vanishing weren't isolated incidents. You're able to do so much more and you _have,_ only you were much more successful at keeping those occurrences secret."

Harry looked slightly taken aback. "How do you know that?"

"Because I know you and I know what you are, Harry. You are magical, in every sense of the word; not just because of the power passed onto you, but because you are my son."

"If I really am your son…if you are my father, why am I not with you? Why am I living with the Dursley's when you're alive and well?"

"It is as I said before," the man said. "I didn't wish to endanger you. I have enemies on many different fronts, some are strangers who would do me harm both because of the family in which I hail and because of my own actions, but others are of my own blood. My father specifically, doesn't wish for me to procreate for various asinine reasons. If he were to know that I had a son he would be…displeased."

"But you could have told me at the very least. I understand the need to remain in disguise but why keep who you were a secret from me?"

"Fear, I suppose. Until this day, only three people knew of your true parentage, two of which are dead and the third is standing right in front of you. I thought it best to keep it that way. I thought that if not even you knew who I truly was to you, the chances of being found out would be slim to none. But then I was confronted with a very ugly truth."

Harry shook his head in confusion, prompting his companion to elaborate.

"These past few years I've done everything to keep your existence a secret, I've used the best disguises, the most powerful cloaking spells in my arsenal and it still wasn't enough. Somehow, my father began to notice that I was disappearing more often than usual, so he had me watched and very nearly discovered where it was I was going. I was forced to stay away until he lost interest and was no longer keeping track of my comings and goings.

"In the two months I was away, I considered what it was I'd done wrong, none of my spells or disguises had faltered and I'd been very careful in spacing our visits out, and yet we'd still nearly been found out. It was only then that I realized that none of it mattered, no matter how careful I am, no matter how many disguises I don or secrets I keep from you, there is always a chance that we'll be discovered. With that realization came the resolution that, when I returned to you, I would stop hiding and tell you of our relation." A rueful smile took over the man's face. "But, of course, you beat me to it."

A slightly suspicious look twisted Harry's features. "So, if I hadn't said anything about being able to see past your disguises, you would have told me anyway?"

"I would have," his maybe-father confirmed. "Though perhaps not all at once, I would have started with revealing that I'd been…watching over you, so to speak, these past few years, then I would have told you about the magic both you and I possessed, and _then_ I'd tell you of who I was to you. I intended to spread it over the course of several visits, break it to you gently, but you obviously had other plans."

Harry hummed softly and idly kicked himself back and forth on the swing as he thought over all that he'd just been told. He had magic, which, all right, wasn't all that hard to believe considering all of the strange things he'd been able to do. What was truly unbelievable was that he had a _father_, who was alive and well and obviously cared for him quite a bit seeing as he'd risked the wrath of his own terrible sounding father to visit him. He found himself struggling to wrap his head around the far-fetched idea.

"I think I need some time," he told the man. "To think."

"Take as much time as you need, little one, I'll be here when you're ready."

Harry nodded and slowly slid from his perch on the swing. He slowly made his way out toward the street, but stopped just before he stepped onto the sidewalk. "What's your name? What should I call you?"

"I am known as Loki. But what you should call me is entirely up to you."

"All right, well I suppose I'll be seeing you."

The man, Loki, granted him a small smile and a dip of his head. "I certainly hope so."


	3. Chapter Three

Loki remained in the park, pushing himself back and forth on the odd, pendulum-like entertainment device for nearly an hour after his son's departure; the unexpected conversation with the boy had left him lost in the dark recesses of his mind, scrutinizing every gesture, every facial expression, and every word that had made up their encounter.

Haraldr, or Harry as he likely knew himself as, had gone against every thought and belief Loki had formed in the years he'd be watching over him. He'd always known the boy was smart, precocious even, not to mention incredibly perceptive. He was a son of Loki, how could he not be? But he hadn't ever considered _how_ smart, _how_ perceptive. Harry had been able to see past his constantly shifting faces, he'd been able to identify him each time because he recognized how he _felt,_ but what was more, he'd managed to fool him, the God of Lies, into believing that he didn't suspect a thing. For years, Loki had been operating under the assumption that Harry had no idea that he was being watched. The truth was astounding, but, more than anything else, it made him proud. His son had not been trained in any form of magic, and yet he was already unconsciously using it to one up his father.

Now that Harry was in the know regarding their relation, Loki could begin taking steps to instruct him on how to better control his magic. They would have to start slow of course, the spells Loki had cast over the boy when he was a babe were still effectively keeping him concealed from Heimdall's all-seeing gaze, but they had had to be renewed on more than one occasion after a particularly strong bout of accidental magic on Harry's part. Actively using magic on a regular basis would likely require some tweaking to those spells to ensure Harry remained hidden, at least long enough for him to get a better handle on his abilities. Loki only hoped Harry would allow him the chance to teach him. The boy had seemed wary of him after their conversation, it was obvious he didn't trust Loki in the slightest, and he understood that, respected it even. Despite the countless times he'd paid the boy a visit these past few years, he was still only a stranger; it would be foolish for him to trust the word of a man he knew nothing of so easily, and Harry had proved on more than one occasion that he was no fool.

He tried not to be bitter about it, but each reminder that he hadn't been allowed to raise yet another one of his children made something sour curdle where he'd once thought his heart to reside. He shouldn't have had to keep his identity a secret out of fear of losing his son, Harry should have known him and who he was from the very beginning, he shouldn't have had to look at him through the face of a stranger every time they met. Harry deserved better, _Loki _deserved better, but until he was presented with an opportunity to make any sort of change, he would have to make do with the clandestine meetings and resource draining protection spells if he wished to remain in contact with his son.

Loki gently kicked his feet off of the ground, allowing himself to rock back and forth for a few more moments before he rose from the uncomfortable strip of plastic he'd been perched on for the better part of an hour and began a slow tread in the direction of the darkened treeline. He would return home for the night, show his face around the palace in order to stave off any more suspicion on Odin's part, and await Harry's return. The ball was entirely in the boy's court, he would do nothing until his son had had enough time to work through all that had been discussed that day and decide where he stood in regards to his relation to Loki. He could only hope the final decision he settled on weighed in his favor; Odin had taken all of his other children before he'd ever been given the chance to truly make an impact on their lives, this would be the first chance he'd had in _centuries_ to build a relationship with a child of his own blood. If he failed, he would have no one to blame but himself.

* * *

It took Harry three days to settle his thoughts and emotions into something that tentatively resembled order; his conversation with Loki, the man who claimed to be his father, had left them a mess of confusion, hurt, and the smallest bit of hope. When he'd returned to the Dursley's home that night, he'd been promptly shoved in his cupboard where he stewed in his thought under the cover of the dusty darkness. After only a handful of hours, he thought he'd come a decision on how he should he react to the possibility of not being the son of James Potter, but, come sunup, he found himself doubting his decision and rethinking how he should really feel.

The next few days carried along a similar vein; Harry spent a few hours mulling over everything he'd been told, comparing Loki's words with the facts he'd been told his entire life. He would settle on one thing, but, after only a few hours alone with his thoughts, he would once again find himself reconsidering. Every moment not devoted to being the Dursley's personal slave and scapegoat, he was silently warring with himself, torn between his desire for any form of familial connection and his intense distrust towards just about everyone.

Loki was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger, he hardly knew anything about the man other than what he himself had told him. Everything he'd said and done up until this point could have been a carefully crafted lie to gain his trust, lure him into a false sense of security, though for what Harry had yet to figure out. Loki had spent years looking out for him, he'd donned hundreds of disguises and spent countless hours talking with Harry or comforting him or just being there when he was struck with a sense of overwhelming loneliness. What reason did he have for wasting so much of his life in Harry's company other than because Harry was his flesh and blood? None that he could think of, or at least none that cast Loki in a bad light or gave Harry any reason to believe that he was a bad person. Crazy, perhaps, terribly lonely and maybe a bit bored, but not _bad_. And, in the end, that was all the justification he needed.

Loki was waiting for him, exactly as he said he would be, on the very same swing set he'd left him on. It was late in the evening, nearing dark when Harry arrived, leaving the park empty of nosy neighbors and their far too energetic children.

"I've decided to believe you," Harry said, foregoing any pomp that may have proceeded the statement as he plopped himself down on the swing beside the older man.

"Indeed?" Loki smiled softly. "That was much quicker than I'd allowed myself to hope."

Harry shrugged. "I would have been here sooner, but I allowed myself too much time to think. Too much time to doubt myself."

"What made you finally decide to trust me?"

"It's like I said before, I'm usually pretty good at spotting lies. But even if I wasn't, I thought it over for a long time, and you have no reason to lie to me. Right?"

"None at all," Loki agreed.

Harry nodded in satisfaction. "So I'm going believe you and all that you've told me, but that doesn't mean I trust you. Not yet."

Loki nodded approvingly. "No one should have your trust so easily, not even me. I will, however, do everything I can to earn it, I wish to be a part of your life in whatever way that I can."

"You can start by telling me about who you are."

"That's as good a place as any, I suppose," Loki nodded. "However, I'm afraid that my answer may only further your doubt."

"Not if you tell the truth."

"I have no intention of lying. It's only that my tale is a bit…farfetched to the uninformed."

"You've told me that I have magic and that the man who I was told my entire life was my dad isn't," Harry said drily. "I've believed you so far."

Loki laughed in wry amusement. "I suppose you have a point. All right, what would you like to know?"

"You said before that you're not from around here," Harry said after taking only a few seconds to think. "Where do you live?"

A dismayed look crossed Loki's face. "Of course you would start with the question that is most difficult to answer," he sighed. "To put it plainly, when I say that I'm not from the area I actually mean that I hail from an entirely different world."

"A different world?" Harry asked skeptically. "So…you're an alien?"

"That's one way to put it, I suppose." Loki paused for a moment, thinking over the best way to word his explanation. "The universe is made up of nine realms; Nidavellir, Niflheim, Muspelheim, Svartalfheim, Alfheim, Vanaheim, Jotunheim, Asgard, and Midgard, they are each home to different races and species, but they are all connected through the branches of the world, Yggdrasil. My home is on Asgard."

"Asgard?" Harry repeated. "Like in the books?" Not even a few weeks ago, he had borrowed a book from the school library on myths from different cultures and religions, among them had been a story of a god who lived on a mountain and wielded lightning bolts and another of a one-eyed king who resided in a golden palace on a place called Asgard.

Loki nodded. "Precisely, while I'm sure the tales have been a bit muddled up over time, the basic gist of it remains."

"So you're a god, from a different dimension?"

"Did I not say you wouldn't believe me?"

"It's not that I don't believe you," Harry protested, "it's just that this is a bit…."

"Farfetched?" Loki supplied.

Harry shrugged. "A bit. The book said that people from Asgard-"

"Asgardians."

"Right, that Asgardians were gods. Immortal. Are you?"

"In the eyes of your people I suppose we would _seem_ like gods, we are stronger, faster, and live far longer than those who hail from Earth, Midgardians. But we are only men, not gods."

"Am I immortal?"

"None of us are truly immortal, we can die by blade or by poison and many other means," Loki said. "I am not entirely certain of your mortality, your mother and I are of two different kinds; a union between an Aesir and a Midgardian has not been seen in several millennia, if a child was born to such a pair, they have long since passed."

"Is that why I have to keep hidden?" Harry asked. "Because you're from Asgard and my mum was from Earth?"

"Among other reasons," Loki said carefully. "On Asgard I am of high standing, my father is Odin, King of Asgard, an illegitimate child of mine would be…frowned upon."

Harry frowned, Loki wasn't lying but he wasn't telling him everything, he was purposely omitting something. "You're a prince?"

"Yes, though it is my brother, Thor, who will one day wear the crown."

"How many people are in your family?"

"Only four, including myself," Loki said. "My father, Odin, my mother, Frigga, and my brother, Thor."

Harry nodded, the slightest bit amazed by the revelation. He had grandparents _and_ an uncle, maybe this one would turn out to be better than Uncle Vernon. "How long do I have to stay a secret?"

Loki shrugged. "I cannot say for certain. I do know that it won't be for many more years, you will need to be older and have some mastery over your magic, in case you ever need to defend yourself."

"Defend myself from who?"

Loki smiled sadly. "That is the question, isn't it? Does this mean you believe all that I've said?"

Harry studied the man beside him contemplatively. "I haven't seen you lie yet."

Loki nodded, clearly satisfied. "If you would like, we can begin working on harnessing your magic in the next few weeks; once we can get a handle on that I'm sure life with your…_relatives_ will become much easier."

"You'd actually teach me how to use it?"

"Of course. Though, bear in mind it won't be easy, a portion of your magic came from your mother, you may not have the same capabilities or be able wield it the same way I can."

Harry frowned in confusion. "My mum had magic?"

"She belonged to a small community that was able to wield their own version of seidr. James Potter was as well, you likely will receive a letter to the same school they attended in a few years."

"What kind of school?"

"A magic school, but that it a tale for another time. Will you allow me to teach you?"

Harry hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose so, but you have to promise me something."

Loki arched an amused brow. "Oh? What can I do for you?"

Harry leveled him with a very serious look. "You have to teach me how to turn people into frogs. My uncle specifically."

Loki's laugh was belly deep and lit up his entire face. "I believe that can be arranged."

* * *

Harry's very first magic lesson was, if he was being entirely honest, the slightest bit anti-climactic; Loki told him before they even got started that he wouldn't be performing any magic, this lesson was to be predominantly theory. They spent the better part of an hour going over the various magics Harry was to learn and how each was performed; it was a task that was most certainly interesting, anything that had to do with magic was, but it wasn't what Harry _really_ wanted to be learning, he'd been looking forward to being taught all sorts of spells and tricks he could use to make the Dursley's lives miserable. However, the second half of the lesson began to show some promise when Loki informed Harry he would be giving him the chance to actively engage his magic. He wouldn't be casting any spells, but only familiarizing himself with how the feel of his magic.

"Most mortal wand wielders, like your mother and her husband, have what they call magical cores, which are often described as glowing orbs of light," Loki explained. "However Asgardian magic, our magic is different, less limited. Our magic isn't restricted to just one space, it flows through our blood, it shapes our bone and marrow and is intertwined with our very life force. We are just as much as part of our magic as it is a part of us. But only if we allow it to be."

"How are we meant to do that?" Harry asked.

"Close your eyes." Loki nodded in approval when Harry immediately did as told. "Good. Now I want you to recall one of the moments you found yourself accidentally performing magic in a moment of heightened emotion. Can you think of one?"

Harry's mind immediately went to the time a few years ago when he'd nearly destroyed the bathroom tiling and given his aunt frostbite after she'd tried to bathe him in a tub of too hot water and what he now knew to be his accidental magic had plummeted the temperature in the bathroom until a fine layer of ice had filmed over the now pleasantly cool bathwater. Petunia had locked him in his cupboard for three days for the incident and refused to bathe him ever again.

"I do," he said.

"Good. Can you remember what you were feeling in that moment?"

"Angry."

"Not emotionally," Loki amended. "But physically."

He'd been in pain, the water had felt as if it were hot enough to melt the skin from his bones. His eyes had been burning too, his thrashing about had made the soap Petunia was rubbing into his hair drip into his eyes. Harry frowned and concentrated on remembering every detail of the memory, somehow he knew that his physical discomfort wasn't what Loki was looking for. "Tingly," he finally said. "I remember feeling…tingly. Like I'd just stuck a fork in the socket, but not as painful. And then the water froze."

"Very good. Now, I want you to focus on the memory of that sensation, think on it until you can feel it as if it were happening to you now. Can you feel it?"

Harry sat in complete stillness for several silent minutes, then suddenly a shudder wracked his spine and he nodded frantically. "I can feel it. What is it?"

"That," Loki said, "is your magic. Congratulations, you've just taken your first step to mastering it."

"Already?" Harry asked.

"Yes, a large part of wielding magic is being able to sense it; once you've accomplished that you can begin learning how to call upon it at will rather than only when you are distressed." Loki granted him a proud smile. "It sounds much easier than it truly is, but I doubt you will find much difficulty learning to control and master your magic; you've already shown great promise."

Harry nodded, pleased with both himself and the praise. "How often will we be able to meet like this? I want to learn as much as I can as soon as possible."

"I'd say perhaps about once a week, maybe twice if we're careful. As long as I'm not away for more than a few hours I doubt my absence will be noticed. We will meet here again this coming Wednesday." Their last few meetings had been moved from the park to an out of business grocers only a fifteen minute walk away from Privet Drive. The place was dank and more than a bit dusty, but it was out of the way and Loki had put up several wards to keep away any squatters or curious bypassers.

Loki pushed himself up from his seat on the ground and dusted away the little dirt that had managed to stick to his pants. "I will walk you home."

Harry nodded, but hesitated in the act of actually getting up. "Before we go," he broached tentatively, "I was thinking maybe we could talk about some things you could teach me next week?"

"What would you like to learn?" Loki asked curiously.

"Well, when I asked if you could teach me how to turn my uncle into a frog a few weeks ago, I was only kind of joking. He's not always…kind to me, and I wanted to find a way to put an end to it."

Loki's face darkened at the mention of Vernon Dursley; he, is emaciated wife, and rotund son had a special place in Hel when they died for making his son's life so miserable, the only thing that had stopped him from enacting his own brand of revenge on the disgusting family years ago was the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Dursley hadn't actually laid hands on Harry.

"I don't believe you're quite skilled enough to turn such a large man into a toad, but I'm certain that there are a few things I could teach you to help you _rectify _their behavior." Loki hummed thoughtfully. "Tell me, what does your aunt and uncle cherish above anything else?"

Harry didn't even hesitate before answering. "Dudley."

Loki nodded. "And what do they fear?"

It took the boy a second longer to decide on an answer. "Not being normal."

"We can work with that." Loki said contemplatively. "I cannot promise we'll begin immediately, but your relatives will get what's coming to them. In due time."

* * *

'In due time' didn't wind up being for some time later. Despite the proficiency Harry exhibited in finding his magic, it was still another month before Loki felt he had gained enough control over it to begin learning the more advanced magic needed to put the Dursley's in their place.

Over the course of that month, Loki and Harry planned the approach that was likely to work best in rectifying the family of three's behavior; the amount of magic required in the finalized plan was minimal but incredibly effective.

"The big one, Vernon, will get it into his head to try and fight back," Loki said during one such planning session. "You need to eradicate that thought immediately or he'll spend the rest of your time with them testing his boundaries, trying to combat any changes you try to make."

"How am I supposed to do that?" Harry frowned.

"Show him just how little powerless he is."

Harry's eyes brightened with unholy intrigue. "Show me how."

Loki smiled at the boy, "It would be my genuine pleasure."

* * *

Petunia Dursley had always made it a point to pay as little attention to her nephew as possible; when he wasn't repaying their generosity by doing a few household chores or helping out with meal preparation she preferred to keep him shut in his bedroom or out in the backyard where it was easier to pretend he didn't exist. However, these past few weeks she found herself paying closer attention to what he got up to whenever she had no need for him around the house. It was only because she was keeping a more attentive eye on his coming and goings that she realized that, when they boy was put outside he almost always wandered from the seclusion of their backyard and didn't return for hours. In any other case, Petunia wouldn't have had anything to complain about, so long as he didn't bring back any of the trouble he got into he could keep right at it. But she _did _have something to complain about because every time her nephew returned from wherever he wandered off to, she noticed there was something different about him. The boy very rarely spoke to them outside of the usual 'Yes, Aunt Petunia's and 'Whatever you say, Uncle Vernon's and that had suited them just fine, but now he was too silent; he didn't respond when Dudley spoke to him, when she instructed him on how to prepare that night's meal, or when Vernon reprimanded him. He only watched them, silently stared with those too intelligent green eyes that reminded her far too much of her younger sister, and it irritated Petunia to no end because, even though his face always remained carefully blank, she could almost feel the condescension darkening his gaze. He hated them, hated _her_, even though he hadn't any right to; they had taken him in even when everything inside of her had _screamed _to just leave him on the doorstep. It would have been so easy, no one would have blamed her for his passing. How was she to know that some old fool had dumped a baby at her door? She could have shed a tear or two to further her case and that would have been the end of it. She had shown the freak mercy in taking him in, she had shown him kindness, he should be grateful.

The soft click of the gas stove being turned off drew Petunia back to the kitchen where the boy was moving casserole dishes bearing that night's supper to the table. "Set yourself a place," she said as he turned to collect the cutlery from the cabinet. "I'll allow you to eat with us tonight."

Once, this statement would have caused a wide smile and profuse thanks from the boy, now his face didn't even twitch as he added a plate to his pile and got to work arranging them on the table. The moment he was finished, he settled down in the seat directly across from her own and waited patiently for Vernon and Dudley to join them.

The Dursley males dove into their meals the moment they were seated, hardly taking a moment to breathe between bites, while Petunia slowly picked her meal apart with tiny, bird-like bites. It was only when Vernon was on his second helping and Dudley on his third did any of them notice that Harry hadn't even touched his plate.

"Why aren't you eating, boy?" Vernon frowned. "I won't have you wasting the food we worked so hard to put on the table."

Harry shrugged noncommittally. "Just thinking, is all," he said.

"Think on your own time. Eat."

Instead of doing as ordered, Harry pushed his plate away and fixed his uncle with a quietly curious stare. "Why do you hate me?"

"Because you're a disobedient, ungrateful waste of space," the man said without even taking a moment to think about it. "And because you don't seem to want to eat the meal your aunt and I provided for you, don't expect to eat again for the next three days."

Harry didn't even blink at the threat, it didn't even seem as if he'd registered anything after Vernon's first sentence. "No," he said thoughtfully. "I don't think that's why."

"Your opinion is the last thing I want to hear right now." Vernon braced his hands against the edge of the table and pushed as if he intended to shove himself away from the table, no doubt so that he could snatch Harry up and drag him to his cupboard, however, the move didn't quite have the desired outcome. Instead of pushing his chair away from the table, the force of Vernon's shove sent the dinner table screeching across the linoleum. Petunia too attempted to stand as did Dudley, but they both found themselves in the same predicament as Vernon; they'd been inexplicably stuck to their chairs while the chairs themselves seemed to have been bolted to the floor.

"What did you do?" Petunia hissed. "What is this?"

"Magic," Harry said nonchalantly, as if he weren't talking about anything more interesting than that evening's weather forecast. "It took me awhile to understand what all of those weird things I was able to do were. It didn't take much longer to recall all of the times I'd done something odd, all of the times I accidentally exhibited magic and how violently you reacted each time I did, and realize that _that_ was why you hated me. Not because I was smarter than Dudley or more likely to make it past thirty without suffering from some sort of heart failure than him, but because I could do magic. Which meant you knew I had this ability all along."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Petunia said, but the way her skin had taken on a sickly pallor and her throat bobbed with anxiety gave her away. "There's no such thing as magic."

"Of course you don't," Harry snorted with a roll of his eyes. "Maybe this will jog your memory." He focused his gaze on Dudley, a small half smile quirked his lips as his eyes darkened with concentration. Between one blink and the next, Dudley went from a horribly rotund eight year old boy, to a slightly less disgusting, shiny pink pig.

Petunia let out a terrible scream and pitched herself forward, but to no avail, her invisible bonds held strong.

"You horrible boy!" She burst into tears the moment she realized how futile struggling was. "What have you done to my Dudders? Fix him! Turn him back."

"That couldn't have been me," Harry said faux innocently. "Remember, Aunt Petunia, magic isn't real."

Pig Dudley began squealing and thrashing about in his seat in a blind panic, meanwhile, Petunia continued to sob while Vernon hurled curses and threat at his nephew.

The perpetrator of the chaos only sighed in exasperation and held a finger up to his lips. "Sssshh, you're giving me a headache." Immediately, and outside of their own volition, Petunia, Vernon, and Pig Dudley fell silent. "Much better. Now, Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, it's time we had a talk.

"I've been living in your…_care_ for seven years now and it has been an incredibly miserable experience. Believe it or not, I, as an eight year old boy, don't find cleaning your messes and cooking your meals a fun way to pass the time and living in the cupboard under the stairs has long since lost its appeal, if it ever had one. So I've decided I'll no longer be cooking for you, I won't be cleaning up after you, and tonight I'll be moving my things up into the guest bedroom, which will now be my bedroom. Effective immediately. Any objections?"

The moment Vernon and Petunia found themselves able to speak again, they wasted no time in listing every objection they'd managed to come up with in the two minutes they'd been silenced. Harry wasn't able to catch most of what they were saying as they were shouting over each other and many of their sentences were interspersed with some very colorful curse words, but he managed to get the basic gist of what they were saying and so, once again rescinded their right to speak.

"You really like the thought of knocking the stuffing out of me, don't you, Uncle Vernon?" Harry observed as he propped his chin on his hand. "Let's forget, for a moment, that you've never once laid a hand on me, and focus on the fact, if you even consider hurting me, I can and will destroy you without breaking any kind of sweat. Raise a hand to me and both you and Dudley will find yourselves being shipped to the nearest butcher to be made into bacon. I'd throw Aunt Petunia into the mix but all she'd really be good for is some leather hide with how little meat she has on her bones." Petunia bristled at the appraising once over he gave her. "Honestly, I think I'm being reasonable here. Do your own cooking, do your own cleaning, and get over the fact that a cupboard under the stairs isn't a suitable bedroom and you won't be turned into a bacon. Perfectly reasonable."

Harry slid from his seat and headed for the doorway. "All of this," he waved a hand in their general direction, "should wear off in an hour or so…maybe closer to two. I'll leave you to think things over. Just remember, comply or bacon; I know you'll make the right choice."


	4. Chapter Four

It came as a surprise to absolutely no one, that it took more than one intimidating conversation and a few well timed threats to turn the Dursleys' behavior around completely, their intense dislike for their nephew was far too deeply ingrained. The fear that that first conversation had struck in their hearts lasted only about a week, no more than two before they were attempting to revert back to their old ways. Fortunately, Harry had a plan in case of such an occurrence. Over the course of the next few months, he used the knowledge and skills imparted upon him by Loki to wear away at his relatives until they were left without a doubt in their mind that he really would hold true to everything he'd told him that first conversation.

After the Dursleys accepted the family's new hierarchy, things settled down into a new sort of normal, one in which Petunia took over all of the household chores while Harry spent most of his days in an abandoned grocers teaching himself how to harness and control his magic. Under his father's tutelage, the boy flourished; he had always been intelligent, always had a knack for learning, but under Loki's patient and encouraging guidance, he absorbed every bit of knowledge thrown his way. After only a few months, Loki began teaching Harry of Asgard and the customs and traditions his people upheld along with the usual magic lessons. By the time he was eleven, Harry had an admirable grasp on his magic and Loki was beginning to run out of things he was willing to teach his son. He had decade's worth of magical knowledge he wished to impart upon Harry, but there were some things he didn't want to teach him until his was a little older. Fortunately, a distraction came in the form of a long awaited letter.

It was delivered the morning of Harry's birthday, July thirty-first, by a tawny owl who dropped it into the platter of scrambled eggs. Harry eagerly snatched the envelope up and shoved it into his pocket before he gave in to the urge to break the dark purple seal and read its contents, he polished off the last of his breakfast then ran the entire way to his usual spot where he was forced to wait almost an hour for Loki to join him.

"It came!" he exclaimed the moment his father appeared. "An owl dropped it off this morning, just like you said it would."

"Well?" Loki smiled. "Let's see it then."

Harry produced the letter from his pocket and handed it to Loki, who examined the thick envelope, with its purple seal and green writing across its face. Inside of the envelope were three, yellow sheets of parchment; one contained the standard greeting to all first year students accepted into Hogwarts, written by the deputy headmistress Minerva McGonagall, the second was a list of everything Harry would need for the upcoming school year, and the last held detailed instructions on how to reach Diagon Alley, the shopping district where he would be getting the majority of his things.

"I leave September 1st and I don't have to come back until _June_," Harry breathed as he bounced excitedly on the balls of his feet. "That's _nine months_ away from the Dursleys. This is the best birthday present ever."

"Oh?" Loki said, his face twisted into an exaggeratedly hurt expression. "I suppose there's no need to give you my gift then. Not if it'll only be second best."

"You got me a gift?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Of course! Turning eleven is a momentous occasion after all."

Loki plucked a long, thin parcel from mid-air and held it out for Harry to take. The silver toned, pearlescent wrapping paper was carefully peeled away to reveal an unpolished black box as long as Harry's forearm but barely a hand's width wide. Inside of the box was a bed of crushed velvet cushioning a beautifully crafted dagger, the blade was long and wickedly sharp with a hilt that shone gold with intricate patterns.

"It will be a few more years before you're old enough to learn the more advanced magics, but I thought that, in the interim, you might be interested in learning a few others crafts of our people."

"You want to teach me how to fight with a knife?"

"Magic is as one of the greatest weapons one can wield," Loki said, "but it would be unwise if it were your _only _weapon. In the event that you find yourself unable to access your magic, it's always good to have a few other ways to defeat your enemy."

"Thank you," Harry said softly, a small, but entirely too sincere smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. He hadn't stopped running a reverent finger over the dagger since he'd opened the box. "This is the _best_ gift I've received, ever."

Loki's face softened with a smile of his own. "It's nothing less than you deserve," he said. "Now this is a weapon fit for a true warrior; it was forged on Asgard by some of the greatest smiths of my realm, it won't ever dull or tarnish, the blade will never need to be sharpened or honed so long as it is in your possession. Promise me you'll treat it with the utmost respect, the last thing I want you to do is impale yourself on your own blade."

Harry nodded solemnly and made a slashing gesture over his heart. "Promise."

"What was that?" Loki asked, copying the gesture over his own heart.

"Crossed my heart."

"Pardon?"

"It's a Midgardian tradition," Harry laughed. "Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye"

"A rather morbid tradition," Loki mused. "But it'll do. Now pack up your things, it's time for the second half of your gift."

Harry cocked his head curiously. "There's more?"

"Indeed. A bit of manipulation and some subtle sabotage has seen a minor crisis arising on Asgard, my father will be too occupied to notice if I'm absent for a few hours longer than usual. I thought I might take you to this Diagon Alley, we can do your shopping together."

"That would be fantastic."

"Let's get going then. We have much to do and only a few hours to do it."

* * *

Visiting Diagon Alley had been an experience, for both Harry and Loki; never had either of them seen a place so ready and willing to embrace all of the abnormalities that came with being magical. The bank was run by goblins, the wand shop (an actual _wand shop_) was owned by a frail old man who knew far too much for his own good, the tape measurer at the tailors moved of its own volition, and men and women peddled their outrageously fantastic wares on every corner.

The moment they'd arrived, Loki had urged Harry to pay a visit to the enormous white bank that stood watch over all of Diagon Alley, there the aforementioned goblins (_goblins_) informed him that, despite the fact that he was not his blood son, James Potter had listed him as the heir to the Potter name and the vault of gold that came with it. The very first thing Harry did with his newly discovered fortune was head over to the magical tailor, Madam Malkin, to commission several robes, trousers, and a few shirts specifically tailored to fit him. He looked forward to tossing Dudley's old hand me downs, shrunken down by Loki to fit him a little better, the moment he returned to his relatives' home.

Their next stop was the strangest pet shop Harry had ever encountered, Eeylops Owl Emporium, and, as their name suggested, their stock seemed to be made up solely of owls. Harry found himself entranced by a beautiful white owl with a pair of intelligent amber eyes, but as owls were meant for post and the only person he would ever write to was, quite literally, worlds away, he allowed her to be snatched up by a dark skinned boy who seemed to be around the same age as him.

Harry bemoaned the loss of such a majestic bird until the moment they stepped into the apothecary where his nose was immediately assaulted by a stench all too similar to that of fermenting fruit. After collecting everything he would need for potions class, they moved on to the wand shop, where the owner, Mr. Ollivander, quite effectively freaked Harry out, and then Flourish and Blotts where they lost almost an hour of daylight perusing their vast collection of texts.

Even after they'd purchased all of his supplies for Hogwarts, Harry and Loki remained to explore the rest of Diagon Alley, taking in all of the wondrously strange items up for sale; they even ducked into the supposedly dark district, Knockturn Alley to take in all that they had to offer.

Dark had long since passed by the time Harry returned to Privet Drive. The Dursleys were still awake, they were all squished on the largest couch in the family room watching some reality program on the telly; however, when he entered the house, they all turned in their seats.

"Where have you been all day?" It seemed his nearly twelve hour absence had made Petunia curious enough to brave interacting with him.

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "I got my Hogwarts letter today, so I went to pick up a few of my school things."

"You got your _what?_" Petunia queried stiffly.

"My Hogwarts letter. You know, the one accepting me into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'm sure you're familiar with it, Aunt Petunia."

"How exactly did you pay for your school things?" Vernon asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "We certainly didn't provide you any funds to go school shopping."

"I didn't steal your money if that's what you're implying," Harry said with a roll of his eyes. "My parents actually left me a bit of wizarding money for schooling. Not much," he lied. "Pocket change really."

"Funny, we never saw a dime from them."

"Perhaps they had a sneaking suspicion you'd blow it all on frivolous items for everyone but me."

Petunia's face took on its customary sucking on a sour lemon look, but she said nothing in their defense. What could she say? She knew it was true.

"Anyway, as fun as it is trading insults with you lot, I've got to unpack." Harry inclined his head in the direction of his relatives, then headed up the stairs to his bedroom where he intended to remain until September 1st.

* * *

Because of the lengths he'd gone to secure an entire day with Harry on his birthday, Loki's visits were limited to less than once every week. And because they had the absolute worst luck, when September 1st rolled around, Loki was unable to accompany Harry to the train due to a function on Vanaheim he was being forced to attend.

Despite being disappointed that his father wouldn't be able to see him off, Harry was still bursting with excitement when an only somewhat reluctant Vernon dropped him off at King's Cross station. The ride to the station had been quiet, peaceful almost, if he didn't know any better, Harry would say his uncle was trying to leave on a good note. But the moment they arrived at the station and the eleven year old had unloaded his trunk from the boot of the car, Vernon sped off grinning and singing gleefully out of the open window.

Harry shook his head, reprimanding himself for the foolish thought. "Goodbye to you too," he muttered as he hefted his trunk onto a trolley and began pushing it in the direction of his platform; Platform 9 ¾. The letter had mention the entrance to the platform was hidden magically, to keep non-magical folk from wandering onto the train to Hogwarts no doubt, but he was able to find the point of entry easily enough. It was hard to miss the teenagers with their strange bulky trunks and caged owls disappearing into a stone barrier.

The platform was crowded with said teens, their parents, and a few younger children; all were exchanging goodbyes, some tearful and others some bordering gleeful. Harry used their distraction to board the train and search out the best place to settle in for the long train ride; he found a suitable resting place near the back of the train where he immediately stowed his trunk before clicking the lock shut and settling down with his potions textbook.

He'd intended on remaining curled up on the surprisingly comfortable benches and reading up on the ingredients of a Pepperup potion for the entirety of the train ride, but that notion was challenged not even a minute after the train departed from the station when someone knocked at the door to his compartment. Harry contemplated ignoring whoever was behind the door for only half a moment before pushing off from his cushioned bench with a put upon sigh.

A redheaded boy wearing a ragged jumper and sporting a smudge of dirt on his nose gave a start of surprise when the door slid open on silent hinges. He raised his hand in a tentative, slightly apologetic wave. "Sorry," he said by way of greeting. "I was hoping this compartment would be empty, they're all but full and my brothers ditched me."

Harry offered the redhead a smile. "It's all right. You can join me if you'd like, but I'm afraid I might be a bit of a bore." He gestured to the book resting on his vacated seat.

"I don't mind," the boy said, clearly relieved to finally have found someplace to sit. "I'll find something to do. Might do a bit of reading myself."

Harry and his new companion situated themselves on opposite ends of the compartment where they settled into a comfortable silence. Unfortunately, it only lasted a few minutes before another set of redheads, identical twins by the look of them, burst into the compartment.

"Ronnie!" one of the boys cried exuberantly. "We were wondering where you'd gone off to."

"Half convinced you'd jumped ship last minute to go back home with Mum and Ginny."

"But here you are, on the train and already making friends. Care to introduce us?"

The youngest of the three redheads faltered and glanced uncertainly in Harry's direction. "Oh, right. Well um…"

The older boys sighed in mock frustration "Ah, we see, you didn't have the common decency to ask for his name."

"Thus you are unable to introduce us."

Suddenly the two boys stepped toward Harry and held out their hands, forcing the eleven year old to cross his arms over each other in order to shake both at the same time.

"Please forgive our brother for his appalling lack of manners," they said in unison.

"Yeah, acts like he was raised in a barn, that boy. I'm Fred Weasley."

"And I'm his much more handsome twin, George."

"And that little runt in the corner is our little brother, Ron."

"A pleasure," Harry grinned. "I'm Harry Potter."

The three redheads froze in shock, but Fred and George recovered remarkably quickly and reached out to shake his hands again.

"Well who would have thunk it," Fred's grin grew impossibly larger. "We're shaking hands with the great and mighty Harry Potter."

"The-Boy-Who-Lived himself! What an honor!" Harry winced at the horrible moniker; his father had told him all that he knew about the events of that Halloween night ten years ago and his subsequent rise to fame in the wizarding world, and, to be honest, it all seemed like a load of hogwash to him.

"A privilege," the twins had released his hand and begun to bow to him.

"A treat."

"A pleasure."

"A right dandy-"

"All right, you two we get it," Ron cut in. "Don't you have some friends you want to catch up with?"

"Too right you are, little brother," George agreed.

"We'll see you two at the sorting."

"Sorry 'bout them," Ron apologized once the two had gone, "they like to joke around a lot."

"It's all right," Harry smiled. "I thought they were funny."

"Well don't go telling them, it'll go straight to their heads."

"Mum's the word," Harry settled back in his seat, eyes on Ron and book forgotten. "Are they your only brothers, or have you got more?"

"Loads more," Ron groaned. "I've got five ahead of me; Fred and George are right above me, then there's Percy, Charlie, and Bill. Ginny's the youngest and the only girl."

"I would have loved to have that many siblings," Harry sighed wistfully. "All I've got is my cousin, and he's the worst."

"Sometimes I wish I didn't have quite so many. Sometimes I think we would have been better of as distant cousins or something."

"The grass is always greener, I suppose," Harry said, nodding sagely as he did.

Ron cocked his head curiously. "What?"

"It means someone's life always looks better from where you're standing. It's a Midgardian-er muggle phrase."

"Oh," Ron sat in contemplative silence for a moment. "Yeah, that sounds about right. So you lived with your aunt, uncle, and cousin? Were they all a bad sort, or was it just your cousin?"

"All three of them were. They tried to keep my magic a secret from me, didn't tell me anything about my parents or Hogwarts."

Ron looked outraged. "So you didn't know anything about magic until you got your Hogwarts letter?"

"I suspected," Harry shrugged. "There's only so many times I could turn my least favorite teacher's wig blue before I began to wonder if there was something my aunt and uncle were keeping from me."

"But you know about Midgard and stuff!" Ron exclaimed. "You slipped up and called muggles Midgardians. I thought muggles only believed in that Geezy guy."

"Jesus?" Harry laughed. "Not all muggles do, some believe in different things and people, others don't believe in anything. My relatives were more of the second sort. I didn't know wizards believed in Norse mythology."

"They're mostly just legends and tales our parents told us about at night about the gods who granted us our magic," Ron shrugged. "Only the really old blooded families, the ones still rooted in tradition, worship them."

Harry grinned slyly. "Did you ever hear stories about, Loki?"

"The trickster god? Oh yeah, he was Fred and George's favorite growing up. They're really into jokes and pranks."

Harry laughed in delight, he couldn't wait to tell his father about the redheaded twins who'd supposedly idolized him in their youth. It was sure to inflate his already dangerously massive ego.

It came as no surprise to him that Odin and Thor were the most popular among the wizarding world, Ron especially had loved hearing tales of the god of thunder, while his sister, Ginny, had taken a liking to some woman named Amora.

Their conversation was interrupted shortly after, when a cheerful woman pushing a cart laden with sweets stopped in the doorway. "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Ron immediately declined, muttering something about sandwiches, but Harry leapt to his feet and approached the woman and her cart curiously. Just like everything else in the wizarding world, magical candy had the strangest qualities. Apparently the chocolate amphibians attempted to run off if one didn't bite their heads off quick enough, while another one made the consumer _float_. Eager to try each and every sweet, Harry began plucking one of everything from the cart.

"Hungry, are you?" Ron asked, watching in disbelief as Harry dumped the large pile of sweets onto one of the empty seats.

"Starving," Harry said, before taking an experimental bite out of a pumpkin pasty.

Ron took out a lumpy package and unwrapped it to reveal four sandwiches inside. He pulled one of them apart and sighed. "She always forgets I don't like corned beef."

"Well then come over here and help me out with these," Harry said. "You don't expect me to eat all of this by myself?"

Ron hesitated for a second, then moved over to Harry's side. "You have a point there, mate."

Together, the two boys made their way through the piles of sweets, all the while discussing the differences between them and their muggle counterparts, daring each other to eat ominous looking Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, and laughing when one of them got particularly horrible ones. When Harry finally got around to trying one of the chocolate frogs, he'd been so caught up in trying to figure out what sort of spells it'd take to animate the hunk of chocolate long enough for a wizard kid to get their teeth around their heads that his managed to squirm from his grasp and hop to freedom.

"Catch it before it gets away!" Ron cried gleefully.

Harry dove to the ground and shoved his hand beneath the bench, where his chocolate frog was attempting to seek refuge; he groped around for a moment before finally finding it lurking in the farthest corner.

"I think it's beginning to melt already," he said, screwing his face up in disgust. "It's starting to get slimy." He took a few moments to get a firm grasp on the unhappily wriggling creature before slowly drawing it back out.

"It won't be any good now anyway," Ron said. "No telling what's been under those benches, but you can't let it get away, it's a point of pride."

"Does these things turn into real frogs if they're out of the package for too long?" Harry rose from the floor and held up a very real and very unhappy looking frog. "Is that how they make the frogs jump? Do they transfigure real frogs into chocolate?"

Ron's faced turned a sickening shade of green that clashed terribly with his hair. "I don't know! I never read the package." He glared down at the small pile of wrapped chocolate frogs as if they'd somehow betrayed him. "Oh, Merlin, I'm never going to eat those things again."

"What should I do with this?" Harry asked, giving the frog a gentle shake.

"Toss it out the window or something. I don't want to look at that thing anymore."

"Wait!" Both Harry and Ron startled when a plump faced boy with shaggy brown hair threw himself into the compartment. "Don't toss him! He's mine, I lost him when I boarded the train."

"The chocolate frog is yours?" Ron asked incredulously.

"He's not a chocolate frog, he's a normal toad. His name is Trevor."

"So…they don't make chocolate frogs out of real frogs?"

"Of course not." The three boys turned to the door where a bushy haired girl had, for all intents and purposes, appeared from nowhere. "They're only shaped like frogs. The manufacturer's put a spell on the wrapping to give them their hop, once they've been unwrapped for a few minutes, the spell wears off."

"Oh, thank Merlin," Ron sighed, gratefully tearing open another chocolate frog and biting into its head. "I don't know if could have given these up."

"Hermione," the brown haired boy greeted the new arrival exuberantly, "they found Trevor for me."

"It was entirely by accident," Harry said as he handed over Trevor the toad. "I was looking for my chocolate frog."

"It's long gone by now, mate," Ron said consolingly. "Have another, but don't dally about this time, bite him in the head and get it over with."

Harry accepted the proffered frog and settled down beside Ron where he did as instructed and ended the amphibians chocolate life before it could escape.

"I'm Hermione Granger," the bushy haired girl in the small lapse in conversation. "And this is Neville, if you haven't been introduced already."

"Ron Weasley," Ron pointed at himself, then at Harry. "Harry Potter."

Neville's eyes seemed to be about to fall out of his head and Hermione began bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. "Are you really?" she asked. "I know all about you, of course, I got a few extra books, for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."

Harry winced. "Yeah, I've read them as well, they're all a load of rubbish."

Hermione looked scandalized by his words. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, they don't exactly know what they're talking about," Harry explained patiently. "Only two people were there the night I got my scar: me and Voldemort, and as far as I can tell, neither of us have been interviewed by any of these people trying to write 'historical accounts' about what went on that night."

Everyone in the compartment laughed, although Ron and Neville looked a bit pale from his use of Voldemort's name. Harry had heard all about the wizarding world's irrational fear of Voldemort's name, and found it, as he did many things, absurd, he refused to call the madman by such ridiculous monikers as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and You-Know-Who.

"I suppose you're right," Hermione said thoughtfully.

"I suppose I am," Harry replied cheerfully. "Now would you two like to join us? We have this here pile of sweets that we're determined to finish before the train reaches Hogwarts."

"My parents say that sweets will rot your teeth."

"Your parents wouldn't happen to be dentists would they?"

A small smile twitched at the corner of Hermione's mouth. "They might be," she said, primly sitting herself beside Ron.

"What's a dentist?" the redhead asked.

As Hermione launched into a long winded explanation on her parents' profession, Harry turned to Neville who was still standing shyly by the door. "Come on, Neville," he urged, "I meant you as well."

"I don't want to be a bother."

"Nonsense," Harry reached out and tugged Neville into the seat beside him. "If I didn't want you here, I wouldn't have asked you to join us."

"Well, you make a fair point."

"I know I do. Pasty?"

* * *

"Is it true? They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So which one of you is he?"

Harry, Neville, and Hermione looked away from Ron, who had been giving them an enthusiastic lecture all about the mechanics of Quidditch, to where a blonde haired boy, flanked by two larger, mean looking boys, stood at the door of their compartment.

"Pardon?" Harry asked politely.

"I heard Harry Potter is in this compartment. Is it true?"

"That depends on who's asking."

"This is Crabbe and Goyle," the blonde said, gesturing to his two companions. "And I'm Draco Malfoy."

A soft cough from Ron, that may or may not have been hiding a laugh, drew Draco's attention to him. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford." He looked to Neville. "And you're the squib Longbottom who only just barely made it into Hogwarts." Draco's eyes fell on Harry. "I don't recognize you two, so you must be Potter," he said to Harry, then glanced distastefully at Hermione, "and you must be a mudblood."

Ron gasped in outrage and turned red with fury, and even shy little Neville, looked to Draco with righteous anger. However, the blonde didn't even spare them a second glance.

"You'll soon find that some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there." He held out a hand with all of the confidence of one who expected Harry to take it immediately and be grateful for it all the while.

"Is that so," Harry snorted, astounded by this blonde haired chit's arrogance.

He nodded, hand still raised expectantly.

"What makes you so sure you're capable of pointing out the wrong sort from the right?"

"I'm Draco Malfoy," the kid repeated, as if it was supposed to hold some sort of importance to Harry. "My family is perhaps the most influential in all of the wizarding world. The Minister of Magic has come to my family for advice on many occasions, my father is one of his most trusted advisors."

Harry hummed thoughtfully; if Malfoy was telling the truth, it would be nice to have that sort of power on his side, but he didn't at all like the other boy's attitude. That was easily rectified though. "All right," he said. "Get rid of your goons and we'll talk."

"Harry?" Ron broached uncertainly.

Harry granted him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry mate, I've got it all in hand."

Malfoy nodded and waved a dismissive hand at his two sidekicks, they immediately turned and lumbered away without a word of protest.

The moment the door shut behind them, Harry focused all of his attention on Malfoy. "Tell me a bit more about you, Draco. What reason do I have to throw my lot in with you?"

"My family is among the wealthiest in all of Britain, both muggle and magical. We are of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and have been close confidants of nearly every Minister of Magic since the Ministry's conception. My father-"

"That's not what I asked," Harry cut in.

"I beg your pardon?" Malfoy frowned, indignant at being interrupted.

"I asked you to tell me about _you_. Not your family. Why should I throw my lot in with _you?_"

"I'm a Malfoy."

"A name and a pretty pile of Daddy's gold will only get you so far," Harry said, though his words had been shaped softly so as lessen the blow to the boy's pride the best he could. "What about you is special? You're obviously smart, so is Hermione. You no doubt know quite a bit about pureblood culture, but between Ron and Neville, I think we've got that covered. What can you give me that I don't already have?"

"Influence," Malfoy responded immediately. "Knowledge regarding the pureblood customs will get you nowhere, you need connections. Something Weasley and Longbottom can't give you."

"But is the Malfoy name something I want to be associated with?"

Ron shook his head emphatically.

"Tell you what, _Draco_, let's make a deal. We both need each other, I don't see why we can't work _something_ out. I help you get to where you want to be, help you crawl from the shadow your family's name has cast you in and help you forge your own and you help me with the same. But my alliance comes at a cost. You see these three right here?" Harry gestured to Ron, Hermione, and Neville. "They're my friends, and I don't intend on giving them up, not for you. I won't stand by and watch as anyone insults them, so hang the words like poor, squib, and _mudblood_ at the door. If you want to be friends, you have to take me flaws and all." Harry held out his hand, only a few centimeters away from where Draco's had once been. "Deal?"

There was a moment of silence as the blonde stared at Harry, then at his extended hand, then back up at Harry's face again. He reached out and took his hand. "Deal."

"Brilliant. I'll be seeing you at the feast, Draco."

The Malfoy heir nodded and, after casting one more glance around the room, went in search of his wayward goons.

"You shouldn't have done that, Harry," Ron frowned. "He's a bad egg."

"He's only eleven," Harry snorted. "He's pompous and far too full of himself, but he's not _bad_."

"He's close enough," Neville protested. "He called Hermione a mudblood."

"I'm willing to bet he's only a product of his environment. I've got nine months to work on him."

"But why bother with someone like him at all?" Ron persisted.

"You saw how easily he agreed," Harry explained patiently. "He wanted it, he wants to be more than just his family's name, he just doesn't know it yet. He has potential, to be a good ally or a _great_ friend. We've just got to give him some time is all."

Ron rolled his eyes, though he didn't outright protest. "You're barking."

Harry's next smile was deceptively charming. "The best ones usually are."


	5. Chapter Five

Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, had been looking forward to this specific sorting for the better part of ten years. From the moment he'd entrusted the freshly orphaned Harry Potter into his relative's care, he'd anticipated the time he would return to the wizarding world as one of his students. And when the boy entered the hall, he was not disappointed.

Harry looked to be a fine young man, he stood among the sea of first years with a quiet confidence, his green eyes surveyed the hall carefully and without a trace of the fear and anxiety the majority of his peers exhibited. He was in the company of a red-haired, freckle faced boy who could only be the youngest Weasley son, Ronald, the Longbottom heir, Neville, and an unfamiliar brunette young lady he presumed to be a muggle-born student. Harry's choice in companionship had the headmaster breathing a touch easier, one of his greatest fears had been that he'd befriend the wrong sort of student during the train ride, the last thing he needed was the Boy-Who-Lived aligning himself with a child of a known Death Eater.

Headmaster Dumbledore watched with no small amount of satisfaction as the young muggleborn, Hermione Granger, was placed in Ravenclaw while the Longbottom heir seemingly defied his own expectations when was sorted into Gryffindor. Ronald was sure to be in Gryffindor, as all of his brothers before him had been; they would be a wonderful influence on Harry.

When it was finally time for Harry to be sorted, the entire hall straightened in interest; the boy ignored the flurry of excited whispers his name elicited as he approached the stool and allowed the Sorting Hat to be placed over his head. He gave a barely perceptible start, no doubt when the Sorting Hat first spoke to him, every student who went into the sorting ceremony blind found themselves startled by the extent of the hat's sentience. As the minutes slowly passed, Dumbledore catalogued every minute flicker in the boy's expression and every shift in his body; at one point, the little bit of his face that could be seen beneath the hat hardened, at another point he gripped the edge of the stool hard enough to whiten his knuckles.

Finally, after nearly five minutes, the rip at the brim of the hat's mouth opened and it spoke one word. "SLYTHERIN!"

_Oh dear._

* * *

Harry wasn't entirely certain he liked the sorting ceremony, it felt the slightest bit invasive to have a seemingly sentient hat look into his mind and trawl through his thoughts and memories. The thing had uncovered the secret of his heritage within seconds of being on his head, and though it had assured him it had no intention of telling anyone, he didn't feel all that comfortable knowing an outdated, witch's hat knew one of his greatest secrets.

In the end, there was nothing much he could do; the hat declared him a Slytherin and he moved to seat himself beside a smug Malfoy. The rest of the sorting passed quickly after that, Ron joined Neville in Gryffindor, while the last person to be sorted, Blaise Zabini, was put in Slytherin. Zabini was nice enough, a bit entitled, but nowhere near as gratingly pompous as Malfoy had been during their first encounter; he had an admirable knowledge of the workings of Slytherin house, despite having just being sorted into it, and he seemed to have no problem sharing this knowledge with Harry.

"Majority of Slytherin house will see your addition as the golden opportunity it is, this is their chance to prove that this house is made up of more than just Death Eaters in training. However, not _everyone_ is of the same mindset. The actual Death Eaters in training will want to see you gone as quickly and permanently as possible."

"How do I know the good from the bad?" Harry asked, casting a hooded glance down the length of the table.

"Sit tight, they'll make their move soon enough. When they do, you'll be able to pick out whose side everyone is on."

"Brilliant," Harry snorted. "I've been here five minutes and already I'm making enemies."

"I don't see why you're so surprised," Malfoy pointed out, "you've had a talent for making powerful enemies since you were a year old."

"I'm not sure any of our housemates could really qualify as powerful enemies," Blaise said. "A few may come from old families, but many of them have lost their influence since the fall of You-Know-Who and the outing of many of his Death Eaters. They may prove to be a nuisance, but, as of right now, none of them are truly dangerous."

"It still won't do to underestimate them," Harry sighed. "Or to let them think they can get away with harassing me because of who I may or may not have defeated when I was only a baby. I've had more than my fair share of bullies this lifetime, I won't stand for any more."

Blaise tilted his cup at Harry in acknowledgment, before turning the conversation to lighter topics, such as what to expect from their first day of lessons. When the feast ended and the headmaster dismissed everyone for the night, two of the older students, the male and female fifth year prefects, gathered up the first years to lead them to the common room. However, before they could even exit the hall, a mean faced teen who didn't look to be more than two or three years older than them, sidled up to the male prefect's side.

"You sure you want to take them _all _to the common room?" the boy challenged. "We haven't yet had the chance to weed out the weasels hiding amongst the bunch."

The prefect, Higgs, made it a point not to look in Harry's direction. "There will be no need for any _weeding_," he said acerbically. "The Sorting Hat has been sorting students for centuries, it's yet to make a mistake and I doubt it's started now."

"On your head be it," the teen said before departing just as quickly as he'd appeared.

Higgs shook his head in disgust before returning his attention to the group of assembled first years. "The Slytherin common rooms are in the dungeons, beneath the Black Lake. There's a sizeable distance between the common room and the classrooms, but we'll show you the best routes to take tomorrow, time it right and you'll be just fine making it to class on time."

As they filed from the hall, Draco stepped closer to Harry's side so that he was able to speak to him without being overheard by the prefects. "That was Adrian Pucey, he's a third year. His father was one of the Death Eaters caught after You-Know-Who's fall and locked up in Azkaban."

"So I suppose it's safe to say he's among the group that's not all that thrilled I've been sorted into Slytherin."

"I would say so."

Harry sighed wearily. He'd hoped that coming to Hogwarts would allow him a fresh start, he'd hoped he'd be able to surround himself with people who didn't hate him for things he had no control over. But it seemed he was just a really easy person to unjustifiably hate.

Higgs and his female companion led them through the castle's halls, pointing out which staircases moved when one was halfway up, which doors needed to be asked politely to open and which just needed a solid kick to the frame, and which routes to take to avoid being late for class. By the time they reached the common room and explained how to enter, it had been nearly a half hour since the end of the feast, but before they were allowed to head up to their dormitories the prefects set them beside the fire for what was meant to be a short discussion on what they should expect from the impending school year.

The female prefect, Amare Farley, smiled kindly at the first years as she settled down on the couch directly opposite him. "Welcome to Slytherin house, for the next seven years we," she gestured to herself and the collection of older years still milling about the common room, "are your family, your mentors, your guides. Slytherin has long since had a reputation for producing not anything other than the dark wizards who have proved to be nothing more than a stain on our society, it is our job to dispel that notion, to show them that cunning doesn't mean deception, ambition will not lead to a desire to rule the world. If we find you have a need for it, we will instruct you on how to conduct yourselves both in and outside of classes in order to earn the respect our house deserves."

"What if there are some among is who are unteachable?" a pretty blonde, first year queried.

"No one is unteachable," Higgs said. "Only the lazy and uninspired hold such a belief."

"No, she's right." The third year from the feast, Adrian Pucey, was lingering just outside of the ring of first years. "Not everyone can be taught."

"Before you is a prime example of such a lazy and uninspired person," Higgs drawled. "I'm growing tired of your interruptions, Pucey. If you have something to say, say it."

Pucey shrugged the older Slytherin's insult off as if he hadn't even heard it. "It's only, we've received one or two students this year that quite obviously don't belong. It doesn't matter how good the teacher is, a weasel can't be taught how to be a snake, he will, in the end, always only be pretending."

Harry heaved a quiet sigh and cut Higgs off before he could formulate a response. "I think it's high time you stopped attempting to talk your way around what you're really trying to say. You have an issue with me being sorted into Slytherin, I can hazard a few guesses why, so why not say it and be done already?"

"Potter…" Farley said warningly.

Harry shook his head at the older girl. "I'd like to hear this, if it's all the same to you. I intend to be here for the next seven years, so I believe it's only prudent to get this all straightened out now." He turned back to Pucey. "What issue do you have with me being sorted into Slytherin?"

"You don't belong. Slytherin has a reputation to uphold, having you as a member of our house would only tarnish that."

"I thought it was the exact opposite," Harry countered. "Prefect Farley said not even five minutes ago that it is our job to dissuade the belief that Slytherin is a breeding ground for Dark Wizard. What better way to achieve that than to have the Boy-Who-Lived himself join your ranks?"

"Yes, there's that," Pucey said dismissively. "But even with the shadow of some of our alumni's…poor choices hanging over us, Slytherin house is still known for producing some of the most clever, capable, and ambitious wizards of our world. Can you honestly say you possess any of those traits?"

"In _spades_," Harry said without a moment's hesitation. "Can you? Because, looking at you I see…mediocrity. _At best_. From our first encounter in the Great Hall, I found myself rather underwhelmed by your presence. From your horribly unsubtle digs and graceless attempts to insert yourself in the conversation I can tell that your opposition to my placement in Slytherin runs much deeper than you claim. Perhaps it's because my defeat of Lord Voldemort saw a relative of yours put in Azkaban? Was it a grandparent? Maybe even a parent? My guess would be your father." Pucey twitched agitatedly. "If that's so maybe you should turn your blame to a more deserving party, like the man who so foolishly aligned himself with the so called dark wizard who couldn't even kill a one year old without being blasted from existence."

"I would watch my tongue if I were you," Pucey said dangerously, his fingers caressed the handle of his wand. "You know nothing of what you're talking about, so unless you wish to end up cold in the ground like your blood traitor father and mudblood mother, you best be quiet and learn to respect your betters.

Just like that, any traces of civility Harry had been clinging too disappeared; the moment the slurs left the older boys mouth, his face turned to stone and his eyes glinted with a frightening emerald fire. "Listen to me, you repulsive, inbred excuse for a wizard," the raven haired boy said, words so sharp and cutting and laced with such an intent to hurt, those all the way at the far side of the common room flinched away from him, "you came here hoping to prove your dominance over me, to show the puny first year Harry Potter just who exactly is in charge, maybe even try to scare me away from Slytherin. Well, you gave it your worst, now it's my turn.

"You called my mother a mudblood as if I was supposed to be offended, as if I was supposed to leap to her defense when, in truth, I would sooner be a muggleborn, a _mudblood_, before I had to bear the shame of being a pureblood."

"And what do you mean by that?" Pucey growled.

"I mean that there are some pureblood families who are so obsessed with blood purity they would gladly screw their own mother if only to keep their lines pure. You are obviously an example of such a family, you inbred chauvinist."

The insult proved to be the final straw in provoking Pucey into drawing his wand. Unfortunately, Harry was far quicker, before the other teen even had a chance to raise his wand, he shot off a stinging spell that had Pucey reeling back in stunned pain.

"I may be small," Harry said as he cast his would be opponent a disdainful sneer. "I may only be a first year, but do not mistake my size for weakness and do not mistake my youth for ignorance or you will find yourself sorely wishing you hadn't. I am stronger, I am smarter, and I am far more powerful than you could ever hope to be."

Pucey gripped the edge of a couch in an attempt to regain his balance as he fumbled to get a better grip on his wand. "You arrogant little-"

"Be _quiet_, this conversation is over, you are not fit to lick the bottom of my boots let alone speak to me as if you were my _equal_, and quite frankly I'm sick of hearing you attempt to butcher your way through the English language. Now, if you don't mind, it's getting late and I have classes tomorrow. Draco, Blaise, will you be joining me?"

His two year mates exchanged hesitant glances before nodding. "Of course. Lead the way."

When they were in the relative privacy of the first year, boy's dorm room, Draco turned to him with a look of wide-eyed, astonishment. It was the first human expression Harry had seen on the haughty blonde. "You know you just made enemies out of Pucey and all of his friends, right?"

"And I've only been here an hour," Harry grinned. "Exciting isn't it?"

Blaise chuckled and shook his head incredulously. "That's one way of putting it. I'll have to keep an eye on you, Potter. I'm already beginning to get the idea that, wherever you'll be, trouble will follow."

He couldn't have been more right.

* * *

The shortcuts Higgs and Farley had provided the night before proved to be invaluable when it came to getting to class on time, not only because Harry, Draco, and Blaise knew they would be absolutely lost without them, but because even if they had known of a secondary, more widely used route, it would have taken them twice as long to get to where they were heading and they most certainly would have been late. Even with the prefects' advice, they made it to their first class of the day, Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quarrel with only a few minutes to spare. Unfortunately, the very first lesson of their very first year at Hogwarts proved to be an absolute disappointment.

Quirrell was a nervous little man who had the absolute worst stutter and seemed terrified of his own shadow. His classroom reeked of garlic and anytime he looked in Harry's direction, his scar throbbed painfully.

History of Magic, taught by the ghost Professor Binns, was just as bad. Binns's monotonous voice and complete lack of enthusiasm regarding his subject succeeded in making what should have been the fascinating topic of goblin rebellions more tedious than reading the back of a cereal box.

Fortunately, both Transfiguration and Charms more than lived up to Harry's expectations. While Potions left Harry feeling the slightest bit puzzled. Harry's first impression of his Head of House, Professor Severus Snape was that he held an intense dislike toward him; he was careful not to display his hostility outright, likely because Harry was one his snakes and it would have only give Slytherin house a bad name. But, more often than not, Harry was able to catch a gleam of distaste in the man's eyes whenever he was looking in his direction. Instead of being cowed by the somewhat intimidating potions master, Harry went out of his way to mollify his displeasure; the few times Professor Snape spoke to him, he made sure to keep his tone even and respectful, he did his best to keep the conversations between Draco, Blaise, and himself to a minimum, and he paid the assigned potion and the written instructions that went along with it especially close attention to ensure it came out as near perfect as possible. And while Snape may not have been showing him the same favor he exhibited toward some of the other Slytherins, Draco most notably, by the end of the lesson he was at least no longer looking at him as if he were something he'd scraped from the bottom of his cauldron.

By the end of his first day, Harry was exhausted and looking forward to a warm meal to replenish his waning energy. However, when he reached the Great Hall, he veered off of the course that would lead him to his house table and headed in the direction of the Ravenclaws.

"Where are you going, Potter?" Draco asked. "The Slytherin table is that way."

"I knowwhere the Slytherin table is, Draco," Harry replied. "And how many times do I have to tell you to call me, Harry. Not this Potter nonsense?"

"How many more times do I have to tell you that I have not given you permission to refer to me by my first name?"

"At least once more, as always,"

"If we're not going to Slytherin table, Potter-_Harry_," Blaise amended when he saw the petulant glare aimed his way, "then where _are_ we going?"

"To the Ravenclaw table, of course. We're going to sit with Hermione."

"But we're not in Ravenclaw," Draco protested.

Harry looked pointedly at his silver and green tie. "I'm well aware of that, Draco," he said, "but Hermione is. I _did_ say we were sitting with her. It's not against the rules, is it?"

"Well, no-"

"Good." The raven haired boy crossed the last few feet to the Ravenclaw table and plopped down on the bench next to his bushy haired friend. "Hello, Hermione."

The brunette, who had been engrossed in a thick textbook before his abrupt arrival, startled in her seat. "Oh, hello Harry, Draco, and…"

"Blaise," the dark skinned boy introduced himself. "I'm Blaise Zabini."

"Pleased to meet you, Blaise, I'm Hermione Granger. What are you guys doing here? The Slytherin table is over there."

"So I've been told," Harry sighed. "Has it not occurred to you that we're here because of you? You're my friend aren't you? And friends usually sit together during meals."

"Oh," Hermione flushed lightly, "I've never had a friend before."

"Neither have I," Harry grinned. "Isn't it exciting?"

"Are _we_ still friends?" Now it was Harry's turn to startle and turn in his seat; he hadn't even heard Ron and Neville's approach over the general bustle of the Great Hall.

He cocked his head curiously at Ron, the one who had spoken. "Why wouldn't we be?"

Ron nervously shuffled where he stood. "Well, you know Slytherin and Gryffindors don't usually get along. They've got a bit of a rivalry going."

"Do you want to be rivals?" Harry frowned.

"No! No, I…I just wasn't sure you didn't want to be."

"We're still friends Ron. Will you and Neville be joining us for lunch?"

The redhead visibly wilted in relief as both he and Neville hurried to seat themselves among the small group. "Yeah, of course."

"Brilliant. Now I believe introductions are in order…"

* * *

Harry broke away from his group, sometime after dinner and less than an hour before curfew. He was careful to avoid being spotted as he crossed the grounds and ducked into the Forbidden Forest, where Loki was waiting only just past the treeline.

"You managed to get past the wards without any problems?" Harry asked as he accepted a hug from his father.

Loki snorted, amused by the mere notion that _any_ wards could keep him out for long, especially those erected by mortals. "None at all," he said. "Your first day of classes was today. How did it go?"

Harry's face immediately lit up and he launched into a minute by minute retelling of his day. Loki oohed and awed at all the right points, genuinely interested in his son's words but unable to remain completely focused when faced with Harry's brilliant smile and infectious happiness. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen him so full of light, not even when they'd met in their hiding spot at the abandoned grocers, the reminder that he'd be returning to the Dursley's where he was quietly loathed in only a few hours' time never failed to dim the spark in his eye.

Every reminder of the tragedy that was Harry's childhood drove a spike into his heart, made even worse with the realization that the hard times were far from over. Harry had much in his future, not all of it good; there would be death and betrayal and pain, so much pain. Loki wanted nothing more than to take him to Asgard, where he would be happy and loved and _safe_. But he couldn't, not while the question of Harry's mortality remained unanswered. Harry's blood sang of the strength and longevity of an Asgardian but with all of the fragility of a mortal, the way Loki read it. Harry could live for thousands upon thousands of years or he could die within a hundred; still just a babe compared to the years he had endured. But just the mention of his boy dying brought his heart to his throat and made him feel as if he were slowly suffocating, it was not a thought he could dwell upon for long.

Never had he deluded himself into believing that, of all the children he'd birthed and sired, Harry was his favorite. He loved Harry the most only because he was the only child he'd been given the chance to know and raise without his father's influence clouding his judgement. Perhaps if he'd been given the chance to know the others for more than the scant few years he'd had, he would have felt the same depth of emotion he felt for Harry. But he hadn't, and so the only thing he felt in regards to his older children was a detached sort of wistfulness and deep regret. He would not allow the same fate to befall his son.

"It seems you've had quite an eventful first day," Loki smiled once Harry had run out of things to talk about. "Play your cards right and those children you've befriended will be friends for a lifetime."

"You think so?" Harry asked hopefully. He'd never had any real friends, even after Dudley had stopped tormenting anyone who had shown an interest in being his friend, none of the children had seemed all that eager to befriend him. They could likely sense that he was different, more than human, and so wanted nothing to do with him.

"Oh, I _know_ so. They're well suited for you."

"Even Malfoy?"

"Especially Malfoy. You said it yourself, all he needs is the chance to grow into his own and he'll prove to be the very best sort of friend."

"I suppose I wouldn't mind that," Harry acquiesced, he'd take whatever friends he could get. "He's a bit of a pompous git, but it's starting to grow on me. Ron hates his guts though."

"Give them time, they'll learn to tolerate each other. But, onto different matters, now that you've been given the chance to settle in and I've found a way around these wards, I believe we should begin discussing where and when we will be conducting your lessons on how to wield your dagger."

"How about here?" Harry gestured to the forest around him. "Students are forbidden from wandering the forest because there are supposed to be dangerous creatures roaming about, but you could find us a nice spot to work in and put up some wards to keep the creatures out."

"I suppose I could," Loki considered. "I'll have to take a look around, I'll need to know what creatures this forest is home to in order to put up the proper wards but it shouldn't be too much of a task. That will be done after you've returned to the castle. When I visit next, we'll meet here and I'll lead you to wherever I've found."

"You don't want any company while you look?"

Loki shook. "I'm more than capable of handling whatever dangers lurk these woods, but you are not yet ready. I'd feel best if you waited for me to find out just what we're up against."

"All right," Harry sighed. "I suppose I should head back up to the castle then."

"I suppose so." Loki pulled Harry into a tight hug. "Goodnight, Little Trickster. I'll see you again, soon."

Harry murmured his own goodnight in response, then slowly made his way back to the castle where curfew was now in full affect. He made it to his dormitory without being spotted by any of the patrolling staff or their cats and slid into his bed with a grateful sigh.

It had been the first of many long days; his body ached from traversing the winding corridors and steep staircases and his magic had never been used quite so much in one day, and yet he'd never been happier.

* * *

It wasn't until several months into the semester that Ron Weasley finally came to the hard earned conclusion that being friends with one Harry Potter was…_odd_. He'd grown up on stories of the Boy-Who-Lived and all of his magical exploits, but nothing could have ever prepared him for the real thing. It had started when Harry was sorted into Slytherin of all places, but instead of honoring age old tradition by swearing off anything to do with Gryffindor house, Ron and Neville included, Harry risked the scorn of his housemates to, not only keep them on as friends, but sit with them several times a week at meals.

Ron had always known Harry would be talented magically, he had to be considering he'd defeated a dark lord at only fifteen months, but not even he was prepared for the ease with which he picked up spells. If he hadn't already known Harry had been raised among muggles, he would have suspected he'd been learning magic even before Hogwarts as many of the children from the older, pureblood families were wont to do.

One thing the stories had got right was how absolutely fearless he was. Zabini had told him, Neville, and Hermione all about how one of his older housemates, Adrian Pucey, had been openly scornful of Harry being sorted into Slytherin only to be verbally beaten to a pulp by Harry's surprisingly razor tongue, but he hadn't believed it until Fred and George, who seemed to have ears everywhere, confirmed the rumor. He'd been surprised and the slightest intimidated by what his brothers had described to him right up until he'd caught sight of Harry in the Great Hall the next morning stuffing himself with food as he looked to be teasing Malfoy mercilessly about something or the other.

Ron had been a bit hesitant about sharing Harry with the blonde prat, he'd heard nothing but bad things about the family from his oldest brothers and their rough meeting on the train did nothing to change his opinion. But, with them both being friends of Harry, he'd been forced to spend a disgusting amount of time with the Malfoy heir; he still hated almost everything that had to do with him, but, after being in his company for so much time, he'd been able to differentiate Malfoy's moods and pick out when his near constant barrage of insults were serious and when they were bordering on teasing.

Harry didn't seem at all bother by their supposed enmity, he only seemed happy to have them as friends, which made Ron try his best not to intentionally goad Malfoy into a fight. For Harry's sake.

He got along well enough with the others; due to the fact that they were in the same house, he and Neville were closest, but he still found Hermione and her never ending store of knowledge helpful and a bit admirable, and he thought Zabini was all right for a Slytherin, he was civil and often funny even if he didn't mean to be.

All in all, he found the beginning of his first year at Hogwarts to be quite enjoyable; even with that minor incident with the troll wandering into the castle during the Halloween feast.

* * *

The whole debacle with the troll had been minor; none of the staff explained how it had managed to get into the castle or even where it had come from, but Blaise had presumed one of the students had left the main doors open when returning from the grounds and the sounds and smells from the Halloween feast had lured the troll from the Forbidden Forest. The creature had been found almost immediately, drinking from the toilet in the girls' loo, where it was subdued and returned to where it was meant to be.

It was fortunate that everyone had been at the feast when the troll wandered in; if it had been in the middle of the school day, the incident may have led to some serious injuries. Because of their serendipity and the quickness with which the staff had taken care of the troll, Blaise hadn't had much to say on that. It was the Cerberus he had a problem with.

Harry, who Blaise was quickly beginning to learn was a magnet for trouble, had been running from the mischievous poltergeist, Peeves, and his spitball projectiles when he'd ducked into the corridor they'd been warned they were forbidden to enter at the very start of the year and found himself face to face to face to face with the massive, three headed hell hound.

Blaise and the others had been understandably unimpressed; the troll had been one thing, it had been an accident and no one had been hurt, but there was no way the headmaster didn't know the Cerberus was being kept in the castle, he'd warned the students not to wander into its residence at the very beginning of term after all. Honestly, it was only a matter of time before a student stumbled upon it, Harry was lucky his encounter had ended in disaster.

Of course, the green eyed Slytherin didn't see it that way, as a matter of fact, he wanted to go _back_. He claimed the Cerberus had been guarding something, a trap door from the looks of it. Wouldn't it be exciting to find out what was being hidden beneath the Cerberus?

Blaise had most emphatically told him that it would not, in fact be fun, it would be the exact _opposite _of fun; Ron, Draco, Hermione, and Neville had agreed with him immediately. Harry gave in easily enough, but Blaise promised himself he'd keep an eye on his housemate anyway; he was the slipperiest of sorts. It was no wonder they got on so well.

* * *

To Neville's undying relief, Harry dropped all matters regarding the Cerberus and the trapdoor and didn't bring it up again. Though his gaze did take on a particularly dangerous glint every now and then, most notably when they were close to where he knew the creature was hidden. The thought of intentionally returning to where the Cerberus resided just to find out if there really was a trap door, and if there was, what lay beneath it, didn't exactly sound like a good time to Neville. However, he hadn't wanted to be the one to go against Harry, he'd never had so many friends at once, or really _any_ friends for that matter, and he hadn't wanted to muck it all up by being a coward. Fortunately, Blaise had no such problem and had managed to dissuade Harry with an admirable quickness and, for a time, things were good.

The first term ended and Neville returned home to visit his Gran and a few of his other relatives; they'd been overjoyed both by his placement in Gryffindor and because he'd found himself a nice collection of friends, of which Harry Potter himself was a part of. Gran was a bit hesitant about him associating with a Malfoy, but Neville managed to convince her that he was different from his father in every way that mattered. He wasn't crazy enough to call himself Malfoy's friend, but they could be considered associates at best and he liked to think that, between himself, Ron, and Hermione, Malfoy found him the least intolerable. He often found himself mediating the arguments between those three when Harry wasn't around and Blaise couldn't be bothered.

The second term started off fairly quiet, outside of a few confrontations with one of the older Slytherin's, things were calm. But then, of course, Harry had to go and make friends with the half giant groundskeeper, Hagrid, who had a particularly unhealthy love for creatures with sharp teeth and razor talons and was, unfortunately, a bit lacking in the common sense department. The man had thought it would be a good idea to attempt to raise a dragon in his tiny cabin on the outskirts of the castle's grounds, his tiny _wooden_ cabin to be exact. Harry and Ron had teamed up on that one to convince Hagrid that the dragon would be happier living on a reserve with other dragons like him. It'd taken a fair bit of time to persuade him, but eventually he gave in and the six of them had risked a lifetime's worth of detention to smuggle the dragon off of the grounds and too one of Ron's older brothers.

With all of the commotion surrounding Norbert the baby dragon as well as the quickly approaching end of term exams, Hermione, Draco, Blaise, Ron, and Neville himself had almost forgot all about the Cerberus. But of course, Harry hadn't.

If he was being entirely honest, Neville would have to lay the blame of reigniting Harry's interest in the Cerberus on Hagrid. In the half giant's desperate attempt to persuade him and his friends that he was perfectly capable of caring for Norbert, he confided that he'd been the one to raise the Cerberus, Fluffy was its name. One just needed to know how to calm it; which was with music apparently.

The moment the words were out of Hagrid's mouth, Harry's eyes took on that gleam they'd all fairly quickly learned to associate with trouble.

"_No, _Potter," Malfoy said immediately.

"What do you mean, '_No, _Potter?'" Harry protested. "All I was going to say was that that was an interesting piece of information that I have absolutely no use for."

Neville, Draco, Hermione, Neville, and Blaise exchanged exasperated glances whilst silently coming to an agreement that they wouldn't leave Harry alone for a single moment.

But then came exams in which they all found themselves too distracted ensuring they passed to keep a close eye on Harry. And that was, of course, when he gave them the slip.

* * *

Harry had only meant to check in on the Cerberus, maybe play him a bit of a tune to see if what Hagrid had said was really true, but when he found out that he'd been right all along, there really was a trapdoor beneath the Cerberus, he couldn't help but take a quick peek.

That quick peek ended up taking him through a labyrinth full of an assortment of booby traps and tricks. After fighting off an overgrown patch of weeds who seemed to struggle with the concept of personal space, hunting down one specific key in a flock of winged keys, acting as quite literal pawn in an oversized, homicidal chess set, slipping past an ugly, smelly creature that could only be a troll, and figuring out a riddle that allowed him to walk through a wall of black flames, he found himself in a cavernous chamber, empty save for the enormous golden mirror standing in its center.

"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi," Harry murmured, reading the inscription along the border of the mirror. "Erised…_desire._ I show not your face but your heart's desire." He snorted to himself."Oh, I get it. It's backwards because it's a mirror. Clever."

He _could_ see himself in the mirror, but it wasn't the same him he was used to seeing; he was older and there was a sort of glow to his skin he'd never seen before. He was immortal and in the company of his father, his uncle, and grandparents, and they were on Asgard.

It was a neat trick, but he didn't need a mirror to tell him what his heart's desire was. He'd long since figured it out.

Was this what the Cerberus had been guarding? Why go through all the trouble of setting up such elaborate security measures to hide a mirror? And why hide it in the school for that matter?

"Is the headmaster an idiot?" he questioned himself. "Did he honestly think this would remain safe and secret down here forever?"

"My thoughts exactly." Professor Quirrell, in all of his purple turbaned glory, appeared soundlessly in the entrance to the chamber. There was an uncharacteristic smirk on his face as he slowly descended the staircase and Harry noticed that his words had been devoid of his usual stutter.

"Fancy seeing you down here, Professor." Harry scratched at the back of his head nervously. "I know the third floor corridor is supposed to be off limits, for obvious reasons I see now. But I have a good reason for being down here, you see there was a kneezle-"

"Save your excuses, you nosy boy."

Harry blinked, momentarily taken aback by the usually timid man's sudden confidence. "Right, well I'll just be going then…"

Quirrell raised a brow and remained where he stood, directly in front of the only exit and entrance. "I think not. You're going to help me."

"Help you with what exactly?"

"To retrieve the stone."

Harry shook his head. "I…am completely lost. Professor, are you feeling all right?"

Just then, a third, chillingly cold and seemingly bodiless voice spoke up. "He knows nothing. Kill him."

Quirrell didn't even hesitate before raising his wand and shooting an ice white cure in Harry's direction. The teen yelped and rolled out of the way, when he was once again upright, he had his own wand drawn in preparation to defend himself.

"I didn't know rule breaking was punished so harshly!" He ducked out of the way of another deadly looking spell, then shot off one of his own. He swept his wand in a violent slash and watched as Quirrell staggered back as if he'd been struck by an invisible fist.

"Wha-?" Harry slashed his wand again and Quirrell fell back another step.

"Stop that!" His turban was askew and his cheeks were flushed a mottled red.

"Stop what?" Harry asked innocently as he struck him once more. "I'm not doing anything."

"_Incarecerous_!" Harry easily sidestepped the coil of ropes and shot a cutting hex back.

"_Diffindo! Confundus! Crucio!_" Harry managed to easily dodge the first, but when sidestepping the second he stepped directly into the path of the third. The moment the curse hit, Harry felt a pain like no other ripping through his veins, boiling his blood and melting his bones. He fell to his knees, gasping in pain.

"Not so tough now, are you, Potter?" Quirrell taunted, but his voice sounded different, more sibilant, and cruel. "Go on and scream for me boy, I know you want to. It's a pity no one is around to hear the lovely sound you'd make."

Through the agonizing pain, Harry managed to tighten his grip on his wand and, with a great effort pointed it at Quirrell. "_Diffindo_."

The curse shot out in a streak of white light and hit his target. As the man fell back with a strangled shriek, the curse lifted and the pain disappeared, allowing Harry to slowly catch his breath and regain control over his limbs.

It took several failed attempts to climb to his feet, but eventually he managed and staggered over to where Quirrell lay sprawled on the ground. The severing charm had hit Quirrell directly in the neck, leaving his throat a mangled bloody mess.

"Oh no," the eleven year old boy gasped. In that moment he forgot that the man had just been trying to kill him, he forgot the horrible pain inflicting curse he'd put him under, all he could think about was that the man was dying right in front of him, and it was all his fault. "Oh no, Professor hang on, I can fix this. Just-just hang on and don't die." He reached for his wand, desperately thinking of anything he could use to heal the man, but for all his training he was unable to think of a single one.

"Dammit!" Harry tore a strip from the bottom of his shirt and pressed it against the bloody wound in hopes of staunching the bleeding. "Just give me a second, Professor," he whispered, unaware of the tears wetting his cheek. "Just give me a second. I can fix this. I can. I know I can,"

As he moved to press the strip of cloth against Quirrell's neck with violently shaking hands, Quirrell wrapped a hand around his wrist, halting his movements. "No," the man choked. "Leave me."

"Are you mad!" Harry cried, swiping a hand across his eyes to clear them up a bit. "You'll die!"

"He's still…inside me. Might…be able to…k-kill…"

"What? Who? Who's inside you? Who can you kill?"

"Vol-Volde…"  
"Voldemort?" Harry gasped incredulously.

"I was…to be host…until St-st-stone…elixir brings him back."

"Professor, you're not making any sense. What stone? What elixir?"

Quirrell's breath grew more ragged as blood flowed into his lungs. "So…sorry," he managed to choke, before he took one last gasping breath then fell still.

"Professor?" Harry whispered. "P-professor Quirrell?" He reached out to grab the man's shoulder's, intent on shaking him back to life, but the moment he touched him a black mist suddenly surged from Quirrell's body and slammed into Harry's chest. He only had a second to wonder what in the world had just happened before he fell to the ground, unconscious.

* * *

Harry didn't know how long he remained unconscious; it could have been minutes, hours, days, maybe even weeks, he had no way of knowing. All he knew was that waking up after being knocked unconscious by an evil entity that may or may not have been the murderer of his mother and stepfather was not at all like how it was in the movies. There was no slow waking up to find himself surrounded by loved ones, only a sudden jolt back to awareness complete with heavy bouts of dizziness and nausea and no company but that of the stern school nurse and the creepy headmaster.

Groaning, Harry leaned back against his pillow in hopes of getting the world to stop spinning and coaxing his stomach from where it was wedged in his throat.

"What happened?" he rasped after several minutes spent recovering.

"You had quite the run in, it seems, with Professor Quirrell and the spirit of Lord Voldemort."

Harry felt his body tense. "I killed him," he whispered.

"I and all of the proper officials can assure you that it was in self-defense. Quirrell had cast the Cruciatus on you, it was perfectly justifiable."

"No it wasn't." Harry snapped. "He was being possessed by Voldemort-"

"No, he was carrying Voldemort's soul." Dumbledore corrected. "He was not being possessed. Quirrell's actions were his own."

"Possessed or not, I still killed him. He was a human being and I took his life."

"My dear boy-"

Harry cut the Headmaster off before he could irritate him further with his meaningless attempts at comfort. "What was Quirrell after?"

Dumbledore looked surprised. "You did not know?"

"If I did, would I be asking?" Harry knew he was being disrespectful to his headmaster, but he could hardly bring himself to care.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't. As you already know, Professor Quirrell was hosting the soul of Voldemort in his own body; in an attempt to regain a mortal form and, in turn, immortality, he ordered Quirrell to retrieve the Sorcerer's Stone, an object created by the famous alchemist Nicholas Flamel, the stone has the ability to-"

"Turn normal metals into precious metals and give the drinker of its elixir immortality. Yeah, I've heard of it. What happened to the stone?"

"The Flamel's and I have made a few new arrangements in order to ensure the stone's absolute safety," Dumbledore said vaguely.

Harry nodded. "Voldemort's going to try a different way to come back."

"I daresay he is." Dumbledore agreed. "Do you think he will succeed?"

"I think it's less a matter of _if_ he will succeed, and more of a _when_. And when he does, will we be ready?"

* * *

Not long after his, in Harry's opinion, rather profound question, Dumbledore left the hospital wing with a deeply contemplative expression marring his wrinkled face. But his presence was soon replaced with the much more welcome ones of his friends, all of whom piled into the hospital wing only moments after his departure and crowded around his bed.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're all right, Harry," Hermione cried pulling him into a rib crushing hug. "When Dumbledore told us what happened we were so worried, especially when he wouldn't let us come and see you right away."

"Well there's no need to worry anymore." Harry assured. "I'm good as new."

"Are you sure? Nothing hurts? You're not dizzy or nauseous? Maybe I should get Madam Pomfrey, just to be sure-"

"He's obviously speaking the truth, Granger. So quit your harping as it's getting quite bothersome," Draco turned a critical eye on Harry. "But you still need to be more careful," the blonde scolded, "and learn to mind your step, you could have been seriously hurt."

Harry's brow furrowed. "Mind-mind my step?" he repeated. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Do you not remember what happened?" Blaise asked worriedly.

"I…" Harry trailed off as he recalled the events of the previous night. Had he forgotten something?

"You fell down the stairs and hit your head," Neville explained. "The Bloody Baron found you and told the professors."

I didn't fall down the stairs!" Harry cried.

"But Dumbledore said-"

"Dumbledore lied. I went back to the Cerberus."

"Of course you did!" Draco cried. "What are you a witless Gryffindor?"

"Watch it, Malfoy," Ron warned.

"Shut it, Weasley. What in Merlin's name possessed you to go back there?"

"I was curious, the Cerberus was guarding something and I wanted to see what. I was just going to take a quick peek."

"But…?" Blaise prompted.

Sighing, Harry recounted his experience, detailing all of the tasks, what he had to do to get past them, and what happened after he did. He watched as their faces morphed from admiration, to shock upon finding out about Quirrell, to horror when he explained the horrible curse the professor had put him under.

"The Cruciatus." Neville whispered. "That's what he put you under." The boy looked sick. "Using it, or any of its sister spells, the Imperius or the Killing Curse, will land you in Azkaban for life."

"And it'd be nothing more than the miserable bastard deserves" Ron said furiously. "Where is he anyway? Have the Aurors already carted him away?"

"He's dead."

The room fell silent as everyone turned to look at Harry who suddenly held an intense fascination with his hands.

"Dead?" Hermione repeated. "How?"

"I killed him," Harry's voice shook lightly. "The curse was horrible, it hurt so bad I could barely even breathe, but somehow I got hold of my wand, and I shot the first spell I could think at him. The severing charm hit him right in the neck. He-he died while I sat there and did _nothing._"

"Oh, Harry, it was self-defense," Hermione tried to comfort him. "He was torturing you, it wasn't your fault."

"He was being influenced by Voldemort." At his friends' horrified and confused looks, Harry elaborated further, explaining the man's death and his final words in detail, as well as the event that had led to his ending up in the infirmary.

"So Voldemort's not dead," Ron said tonelessly.

"No, and he's going to get a body eventually, and when he does he's going to come after me. So I…I'd understand if you guys don't want anything to do with me. Being my friend will only put you in danger."

"Are you mad?" the redhead cried. "You're my friend, Harry, and no crazy dark wizard is going to change that. Besides, it's not me you should be worried about."

All eyes turned to Draco who puffed up in offense. "What, you think because my father was a Death Eater I'll become one as well?" He glared at Harry. "Well you're wrong, all of you. When I shook your hand on the train, Potter, I made my choice. Whatever happens, whether it be crazy groundskeepers with a soft spot for dragons, or megalomaniacal dark lords who have you on the top of their kill lists, I'm with you. And no amount of whining is going to change that. So…so you might as well suck it up and get used to it, because I'm here to stay."

Harry stared at the blonde in awe, and even Ron gaze just might have held a hint of respect. "Thank you, Draco, you don't know how much that means to me."

"He's not the only one," Blaise said. "I don't plan on giving you up anytime, Harry."

"Me neither," Neville said.

"Nor I," Hermione added.

As his friends declared their intentions of sticking by his side come hell or high water, Harry felt the tight knot in his chest ease just a bit. He wasn't all right, not by a long shot, but just being in the company of his friends assured him that, in time, he would be.

* * *

**A/N: Over on Archive of Our Own, Akuma_River and I have decided we're going to team up and take over the world. Anyone who would like to apply for the position as our followers please leave a comment in the little box below.**


	6. Chapter Six

Harry had always been a light sleeper. After years spent being woken at all hours of the night to perform some menial task or another for the Dursley's his body had conditioned itself to never fall too deep into a slumber. This particular skill was a pain when sharing a dormitory with five other boys as both Crabbe and Goyle snored like you wouldn't believe and Blaise had the tendency to mutter nonsense in his sleep. So when someone began gently running their fingers through his hair, he was awake in a matter of seconds. Harry forced his body to remain relaxed in the uncomfortable hospital bed kept and his breathing deep and even, but his visitor wasn't fooled for even a second.

"I know you're awake, Haraldr. Open your eyes, we have things to discuss."

Harry winced, the use of his full name and his father's ominous words did not bode well for him, add to that Loki's flat voice, devoid of any emotion, and he knew that he was in trouble. Big trouble.

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and peered up at his father. It was late in the night, or early in the morning depending on how one looked at it, and the hospital wing was almost completely dark. Torches strategically placed along the wall cast the room in shadows and hid most of Loki's features from view.

The flickering shadows made it hard for Harry to discern his father's expression; the thoughts and emotions he'd been to taught to read were lost to the darkness, which meant that Harry couldn't plan his words and actions accordingly. So he tried for an endearing smile and silently hoped for the best.

"'lo Dad."

"_What _were you thinking?"

Harry grimaced, it seemed that there would be no beating around the bush or careful broaching of the subject, Loki was going straight for the kill. "I'm sorry," he muttered pushing himself up into a sitting position in the mildly uncomfortable hospital bed.

"I didn't ask if you we're sorry," Loki said coldly. "I want to know _what _you were _thinking_."

"I-I wasn't."

"Obviously, and that is a problem."

"Is it?"

"Yes, it is," Loki snapped. "You willingly put yourself in danger tonight. You jumped headfirst into a situation you knew nothing about and almost died because of it."

"I know, it was stupid, I'm sorry," Harry said meekly. "But in my defense I figured Dumbledore had a lifetime supply of lemon drops or an all male brothel hidden under the school, not trolls, and giant chess sets, and evil, should be dead dark lords growing off of the back of my Defense professor's head. So if there's anyone to blame for my current condition, it should be the headmaster."

"So you don't think you were in the wrong at all?" Loki said, he seemed calm for the most part, he was still idly playing with Harry's hair and the little of his face Harry could see was relaxed, but he knew not to be fooled, Loki was well known for hiding the most terrifying of emotions under a tranquil, incredibly misleading front. "The headmaster was entirely at fault for tonight's actions?"

"I wouldn't say he's entirely at fault," Harry said hesitantly. "But I do believe that if he'd been wiser in his choices none of this would have happened. I mean, it wasn't exactly the brightest idea to hide such a dangerous artifact here."

"I agree."

Harry's brow rose in surprise. "You do?"

"I do," Loki confirmed. "Dumbledore was not taking into account the possible ramifications of his actions when he decided to hide that blasted stone here. Because of this, I can no longer trust him with the safety of my son, thus I have come to the conclusion that you will not be returning next year."

Harry's jaw dropped. "You can't be serious."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because-because you can't pull me out of Hogwarts, you just can't!"

"You almost died, Haraldr," Loki snarled, his calm façade suddenly falling, replaced with a terrifying fury. "You could have _died_. Your headmaster's stupidity put your life and the lives of hundreds of others of children in danger. You _will not _be returning next year."

"Dad, please-"

"There will be no debate, Haraldr. Dumbledore has proven that he does not have the abilities required to keep you safe, so I will no longer allow him to try."

"Of course he doesn't," Harry said desperately. "No one does, that's why you've been teaching me how to protect _myself_. Don't you trust me and all the things I've learned?"

"Of course I do," Loki said. "You are powerful, incredibly so, and one day you will be an incredible warrior. But that day is not today. You are still a child, Harry, young and inexperienced, and there are men out there, men like Voldemort, who are older and more powerful than you. You need to be protected until you are capable of protecting yourself, and that is something Dumbledore has proven time and time again that he is unable to do."

"So where will I go?" Harry asked bitterly. "Back to the Dursley's where they can belittle me, make me feel unwanted, lower than dirt? Would you really send me back to them?"

"No, I would not. I will take you, we will leave to some forgotten corner of the universe and live out our lives in peace, free from worry, and fear, and expectations that we couldn't possibly live up to."

Harry smiled sadly. "And what happens to our family, to my friends?" he asked. "Will we forget about them? And do you honestly believe that they will forget about us? They will search every nook and cranny of the universe, and they won't give up until they've found us."

"You underestimate me."

"And you underestimate them and the sheer tenacity those searching for those they love possess." Harry looked up at his father pleadingly. "We can't leave, if we do we'll constantly be running, hiding from those who want to find us, peace will be nothing more than a pipe dream. It's about time that we accept that no matter what I do or where I go, I will always be in danger, you simply have to trust that I can take care of myself. The only way I can become stronger and more experienced than the people who want to hurt me is if I get experience of my own, but I can't do that if you keep me locked away in some gilded cage for my own protection."

"Harry-"

"Please, Dad. Trust me."

Loki's entire body seemed to deflate. "I'm just trying to keep you safe," he said solemnly. "If something were to happen to you, I would never forgive myself."

"You can't protect me forever."

"I know," Loki sighed heavily. "All right, I'll allow you to stay, but we'll be increasing your training this summer. It's time I taught you how to properly defend yourself."

Harry beamed and threw his arms around Loki's neck in a crushing hug. "Thank you."

"Anything for you, little trickster," he murmured, pressing a kiss to his son's head as he tried to ignore the feeling of trepidation settling in his gut.

* * *

Harry was released from the hospital wing in just enough time attend the leaving feast where he cheered along with the rest of Slytherin house when they won the house cup for the seventh year in a row. And then the year was over. Wardrobes were emptied, trunks were packed, and pets were found, all of the students received and promptly disregarded notes warning them not to use magic over the holidays, then Hagrid took them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake and they boarded the Hogwarts Express. The train ride was spent talking and laughing as the countryside became greener, eating Bettie Botts Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle towns, and pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats just before the train pulled into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross Station.

Harry reluctantly said goodbye to his friends, thanked Mrs. Weasley for the hand-knit sweater and fudge she'd gifted him for Christmas, then approached his relatives, all of whom looked appropriately horrified at the mere sight of him. They grunted at him in greeting, then turned swiftly and marched to the car, not even bothering to offer their help or to even see if he was following.

Harry spared one last wave and a grim smile to his friends before following the Dursley's to the car. The hour long trip to Little Whinging was spent in near complete silence, broken only by the low hum of the engine and Vernon's occasional rants at slow drivers. When they finally pulled up to Privet Drive the Dursley's hurried up the drive and left Harry to haul his things up to his bedroom. After his trunk was placed neatly at the foot of his bed, Harry collapsed onto his bed and stared glumly up at the ceiling.

"There's no place like home."

* * *

"Now, as we all know, today, is a very important day."

Harry transferred his attention from his plate of bacon and eggs to his uncle, who was sitting at the head of the table, trying to look important. He knew he wasn't talking about his birthday, which just so happened to be today, but he still found himself mildly interested. The month or so he'd been home had been horribly boring, he'd take just about anything to help liven it up.

"This could very well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career."

Ah, that was it, how could he have forgotten? Vernon had only been talking of nothing else for the past two weeks. Some rich builder and his wife were coming to dinner and Uncle Vernon was hoping to get a huge order from him. He and Petunia had planned every moment of the visit down to the very second to ensure they came off in the best light possible; Petunia was to play the part of the beautiful housewife, graciously welcoming their guests into her home the moment they entered the lounge, whilst Dudley was to be the charming little cherub with the best of manners and an endearing idolization of Vernon's client, Mr. Mason. Harry, of course, was to remain in his room where he was meant to pretend as if he didn't exist, but that was more than fine by him; the last thing he wanted to do the night of his birthday was to take part in his relative's circus act. He was more than content to watch their complete failure from afar. Of course, he couldn't let the Dursley's know that, he didn't want to make their lives _easy_.

"I can't make any promises about this whole out of sight, out of mind thing," he told Vernon. "It really just depends on how accommodating I'm feeling."

"I'll prepare you a dinner all for yourself," Petunia offered stiffly. "Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and a slice of banoffee pie…for your birthday."

"That would do it, I'd think," Harry conceded. "I was never able to turn away a slice of banoffee pie."

After polishing off the last of his breakfast, Harry left the house in search of something interesting to do; the abandoned grocer's he and Loki often spent their time had been torn down sometime during the school year to make room for some sort of shopping complex. Harry's new favorite haunt was the library a few streets away from Privet Drive, the librarians were nice enough and, even though he didn't have a card to actually check the books out, he was able to read as much as he wanted in the air conditioned building.

He returned to Number Four a few minutes before five; Petunia was in the kitchen, putting the final touches on that evening's dinner, but she paused in her work long enough to hand Harry a plate laden with his promised meal and dessert as well a cool bottle of water.

Humming softly, Harry took his food up to his bedroom, but froze in the act of closing the door when he caught sight the odd creature sitting on his bed. The little creature had large, bat-like ears, bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls, and a long, thin nose. Harry noticed that it was wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm and leg-holes. He recognized it from his text on magical creatures as a house elf.

"Harry Potter!" the elf exclaimed with a high pitched squeak.

Harry quickly shut his door the rest of the way, set his food on the desk, and, with a wave of his hand, set up a charm that prevented any sound from leaving his room. "Er, hello," he said, settling down in his desk chair. "If you don't mind my asking, who are you? And what are you doing in my bedroom?"

"I am Dobby the house elf. And Dobby is here to tell, sir…well, it's very difficult, sir…Dobby wonders where to begin."

"I find the beginning usually works for me." When Dobby only shook his head, he elaborated further. "How about we start with who sent you?"

Dobby flinched. "Nobody sent Dobby, sir. Dobby came here by himself."

"But why?"

"Dobby has come to warn the great Harry Potter, sir! He must not go back to Hogwarts."

"Okay," Harry said slowly. "Why don't you explain why?"

"There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," whispered Dobby, suddenly trembling all over "Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!"

"What is this plot? And who's behind it?"

Dobby made an odd strangling noise and then frantically began banging his head upon the wall. Harry leapt to his feet and grabbed the elf around his waist, forcefully pulling him away from the wall. Silently he praised himself for having the foresight to silence his room as Dobby's squeals of pain were deafening.

"Stop, Dobby," Harry said firmly. "You've punished yourself enough. All right?"

Only when the elf nodded in agreement did Harry set him down, he watched suspiciously as Dobby weaved drunkenly around the room for a few minutes, regaining his bearings.

"Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts."

"Yeah, we covered that already," Harry sighed. "Evil things are going down this year, but _what_? Give me something specific."

"Dobby cannot say," the elf moaned. "Dobby cannot say."

"Is Voldemort-" Dobby squealed in terror, "_You-Know-Who _behind it?"

Dobby hesitated, then shook his head slowly, but he stared intently at Harry as he did so, as if attempting to relay a clue.

"Okay, he's not behind it, but if whoever _is _behind it succeeds, will it result in You-Know-Who getting his body back?"

This time he received a nod.

"All right, then I definitely have to go back."

"But the great Harry Potter cannot!"

"I have to, if I don't go, my friends will be in danger."

"The friends who don't even write to Harry Potter?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at the shifty looking house elf, he hadn't received a single letter from any of his friends this summer, something he'd assumed was a side effect of the wards around Number Four.

"Have you been taking my letters?" he asked dangerously.

"Dobby has them here, sir." The house elf meekly pulled out dozens of letters from under his pillowcase and even what looked like shrunken down parcels. "Harry Potter mustn't be angry… Dobby hoped if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him, Harry Potter might not want to go back to school, sir."

"Give me my letters."

"Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his word that he will not return to Hogwarts. There is a danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, sir!"

"I will say no such thing."

"Then Harry Potter will not be getting his letters."

Harry snarled and lunged at Dobby; the little creature didn't expect the sudden attack so all he had time to do was squeak in fright before the twelve year old was upon him, wrestling with him for the stack of letters.

"Give me my letters, Dobby!" he cried, attempting to pry the elf's thin fingers open.

"Dobby will not!"

Harry had only just managed to gain the upper hand in the bizarre fight when there was a soft cough from behind them. Both boy and elf froze and slowly turned to face their unexpected visitor.

"Well, isn't this an interesting sight."

Harry wrenched the letters from Dobby's slackened grip and leapt to his feet. "Dad," he gasped breathlessly, "I didn't expect to see you until later tonight."

"I'd figured I'd keep you company while you're relatives brown nosed away downstairs," Loki observed the scene before him in amusement. "But it seems you're already being sufficiently entertained. Perhaps I should return later."

"Don't be silly," Harry dragged Loki to the chair, "Dobby was just leaving. Weren't you Dobby?"

The house elf looked upset, but he nodded anyway. "Of course, Harry Potter."

"Excellent. But Dobby." He paused in the act of teleporting away. "I will be going to Hogwarts this year, so please don't try and stop me."

Dobby must have seen something in the look on Harry's face as his tiny shoulder slumped and he nodded once, then popped away.

"What was that about?" Loki asked.

"Nothing." Harry waved the odd event aside as he grabbed his plate and settled down at his father's side. "Just some crazy house elf. So what have you been doing in Asgard? Has Uncle Thor gotten into any trouble since you last visited?"

Loki sighed heavily "Your oaf of an uncle is _always_ getting into trouble," he said. "Why just the other day he got so thoroughly smashed he almost started a war with all of Vanaheim."

Tales of his uncle's foolish antics had Harry forgetting all about the mad house elf and his nonsensical warnings far too quickly. Every once in a while, the scrape of cutlery against fine china or a burst of fake laughter would make its way up into his bedroom, but not once did Harry wish he could be anywhere other than exactly where he already was.

* * *

Vernon successfully sealed the deal with the Mason's, putting him in such a good mood that Harry found the rest of the summer to be something resembling tolerable. He was still, however, over the moon when September 1st arrived and he was able to return to Hogwarts.

His second year at the school of magic brought about a few changes; namely, the arrival of the last of the Weasley clan, Ron's younger sister, Ginny, and the introduction of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Gilderoy Lockhart. The man was famed for encountering and summarily defeating dangerous magical creatures and then writing fantastical accounts about the event; he was only really famous among housewives and schoolgirls, but that had done nothing to stop his already disproportionate head from filling with hot air.

Harry's first run in with the man was the day after the Welcoming Feast. After lunch he and his friends had settled in the slightly overcast courtyard to catch what little sunshine they could before their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class when a squirrely looking first year with a large camera clutched in his hands approached.

"A-all right, Harry?" the boy stammered , blushing bright red when the rest of the group turned to stare at him.

"Hello," Harry smiled kindly. "You're Colin Creevey, right? You were sorted into Gryffindor?"

"Y-yes, I was." A surprised smile took over the first year's face and he took a tentative step forward. "D'you think- would it be all right if…can I have a picture?" He hopefully raised his camera.

"A picture?" Harry repeated blankly.

"So I can prove I've met you," Colin said eagerly. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me about how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you've still got a lightning scar on your forehead," his eyes raked Harry's hairline. "And a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures'll _move,_" Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and said, "It's _amazing _here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'd be really good if I had one of you," he looked imploringly at Harry, "maybe one of your friends could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?"

Harry glanced hesitantly at his friends, all of whom looked to amused to be of any help. "I…I guess a photo would be all right."

Draco laughed incredulously. "You're actually going to do it? Are you going to sign it as well?" he teased. "Maybe we should start selling signed photos of you, we'd make a good galleon off of them."

"Who's giving out signed photos?"

Harry only barely managed to suppress a groan when Lockhart swept toward the little group in a swirl of violently turquoise robes; he'd only heard the man speak from afar, but what he'd heard was enough to convince him that, whatever he was using to keep his teeth so white, must have been harmful for his brain.

"Ah, I shouldn't have asked! Harry Potter, we meet at last." He turned his million watt smile onto Colin. "Come on then, Mr. Creevey." Lockhart pulled Harry tightly to his side. "A double portrait, can't do better than that, and we'll _both_ sign it for you."

Before the boy could raise his camera, Harry slipped out of his professor's grasp and moved away from him. "Actually, Professor, Colin asked to take a picture _with_ me, not of me. But if you could perhaps take the picture that would be much appreciated."

Harry felt a smug sense of satisfaction when Lockhart's smile became slightly less blinding to the eye. "Of course," he said. "Get in there, Mr. Creevey."

Colin eagerly shoved his camera into Lockhart's hands and ran to Harry's side, the raven haired Slytherin threw an arm around the younger boy's shoulders and smiled at the camera. And if the smile came out just a bit smug…well, Lockhart's expression was just _too_ amusing.

The man was certainly annoying and so full of himself it almost hurt to hear him talk, but Harry found comfort in the fact that the chances of Voldemort possessing Lockhart were slim to none. Perhaps, he'd be lucky enough to make it through the school year without having a run in with the dark lord.

* * *

_**The Chamber of Secrets has been opened.**_

_**Enemies of the heir, beware.**_

Harry sighed in melancholy as he read the message written across the blank wall in what looked suspiciously like blood. The caretaker Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, was hanging from a torch less than a meter away, stiff as a board.

There hadn't been any word of the Chamber of Secrets, its mysterious heir, or the supposed monster of Slytherin for nearly fifty years; there was no way their sudden revival was a coincidence. Voldemort was likely making another attempt at returning to life and he had, once again, infiltrated the school to do so. Loki was not going to be pleased.

Harry used the commotion caused by Filch's discovery of his seemingly dead cat and the headmaster's arrival to slip away from the crowd of students; he stealthily made his way to the Forbidden Forest where he knew his father would be waiting. Best to tell him to get it over with and tell him what was happening right away, the last thing he needed was for Loki to find out about the Chamber on his own and return to the conclusion that Harry would be safest away from both Midgard and Asgard.

He granted Loki a quick hug and greeting before jumping right into it. "Someone's gone and opened the Chamber of Secrets."

Loki raised an eyebrow. "That is…good, I presume?"

"For blood traitors and 'mudbloods' it is the exact opposite of _good_."

Loki heaved a heavy sigh. "Explain."

"The founder of my house, Salazar Slytherin, wished to be more _selective _about the students admitted to Hogwarts," Harry explained. "He disliked taking students of muggle parentage, believing them to be unworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school.

"But, the story goes that, before his departure, Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing about. Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic.

"Half an hour ago a message was found written in blood on one of the castle's walls declaring the reopening of the Chamber. Beside it was the caretaker's cat, she looked to be dead."

"Do you think it's Voldemort?"

Harry nodded. "Or someone working to get Voldemort his body back. Do you remember that crazy house elf that visited me on my birthday?"

"I remember."

"Well, I don't think he's half as crazy as I led myself to believe," Harry said. "He tried to warn me away from Hogwarts, he told me that something was going to happen, but I ignored him, wrote him off as crazy, but…"

"But he was right all along."

"Exactly."

"Perhaps he was," Loki said. "Crazy that is. But even the most brilliant people have their moments of madness."

Harry laughed softly. "No, I think he was just mad. But crazy or not he knew what he was talking about."

"What is troubling you, little trickster?" Loki asked, picking up on Harry's heavy tone.

"I'm just worried is all," Harry sighed. "Ron, Neville, and Hermione are considered to be blood traitors and 'mudbloods' by those of pureblood. They're the two kinds of people Slytherin strived to keep out of Hogwarts and, if he or she really exists, the people the Heir of Slytherin will set his monster on. I want to protect them, but I don't know what I'm trying to protect them from, and it's just so…"

"Frustrating? Horrible? The worst feeling in the world?" Loki pressed a kiss to the top of Harry's head. "I know the feeling."

* * *

Colin Creevey was the first student to be attacked less than three weeks later; he was found in the middle of the night, presumably heading back to the common room after a failed attempt at finding the Slytherin common room. The only clue as to what had attacked him was the twisted, melted lump that had once been his beloved camera. Only a few days before Yule break, there was a double attack: Justin Finch-Fletchley and, to everyone's horror, Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor. His petrification caused perhaps the greatest amount of fear, for if a ghost wasn't safe from the Heir of Slytherin, who was?

Tensions were at an all-time high for everyone, but Harry was perhaps the most affected; each attack on the students had been heralded by strange hissing threats only Harry seemed able to hear, strange hissing threats he was now hearing on a weekly basis. He was convinced that whoever or whatever he was hearing was behind the attacks, as he usually heard the invisible being right before another student was found petrified. He was searching tirelessly to find out what it was he could be hearing, but so far his search had resulted in nothing but several nights spent without sleep and a group of very worried friends.

"Harry Potter! Where have you been?" Harry looked up from his book on dangerous magical creatures and found himself facing an angry and concerned looking Hermione flanked by Ron, Neville, Draco, and Blaise. "We've been looking for you everywhere."

"What?"

"You missed dueling club, mate," Ron said. "You told us you'd meet up with us when it started, but you never showed up."

"I didn't miss it," Harry denied. "It's not for another…" He looked down at his watch and winced when he realized the time. "Oh."

"This is getting out of hand, Potter," Draco scowled. "We know you want to find out what Slytherin's monster is to, for some reason, _keep us safe from it_, but you're going to kill yourself doing it and then what good would you be to us?"

"Draco-"

"Shut up, Potter." The blonde snatched the book from Harry's hand and began shoving it and the rest of the books scattered across the library table into his bag. "You've done enough research for today."

"But-"

"I said, shut up. Now, we're going to take you to the Great Hall and get some food into you, Merlin knows the last time you ate a full meal, and then we're going to the lake where we'll teach you everything we learned today in dueling club. I don't know how you plan on protecting us if you don't even know how to protect yourself."

And with that, Draco hauled Harry out of his seat and dragged him to the Great Hall, where he proceeded to shove every food item in sight down Harry's throat until the dark haired Slytherin threatened to throw up all over his new shoes.

Hermione had been petrified.

* * *

It happened in mid-May, not even a month before the end of term, and Harry couldn't help but blame himself for it.

After Draco's intervention all those months ago, Harry's friends had taken to accompanying him to the library in order to limit the amount of time he spent researching and tell him when enough was enough. But even they had been researching excessively after Hagrid was arrested and taken to Azkaban on the charges of opening the Chamber (apparently he'd been accused of opening it the first go round and that was why he'd been expelled from Hogwarts).

They'd been there the night he was arrested; the group of second years had been visiting him for a late night cup of tea when Dumbledore, Lucius Malfoy, and the Minister of Magic arrived. Upon hearing the three men's arrival they dove under Hagrid's massive bed, where they listened in silent disbelief as Dumbledore was suspended from his position as Hogwarts' headmaster and Hagrid was accused of opening the Chamber of Secrets and unleashing the monster on defenseless student. Despite the headmaster's protests, Hagrid was carted off to Azkaban, but not before the gamekeeper announced to no one in particular that if they wanted to find the truth, then all they needed to do was follow the spiders.

Well, they followed the spiders, it wasn't that hard considering the fact that every spider anywhere on the grounds was heading in a mass exodus away from the school and into the Forbidden Forest. They followed the blasted spiders directly to a colony of acromantulas who, after telling them that Hagrid was innocent (as if they hadn't known that already) and that whatever was lurking in the school was a spider's greatest fear, tried to eat them. If it wasn't for Hermione's ability to conjure a vicious wall of flames that held back the giant spiders as they fled, the six second years would have been acromantula food.

Hagrid's arrest led Harry, Hermione, Neville, Blaise, Draco, and Ron to spending every moment they weren't eating, sleeping, or in class trying to discover the mystery of the Chamber so that they could clear his name. The day Hermione was petrified, she and Harry were working in the library while the others were taking a break out by the lake.

"Oh my goodness, Harry," Hermione whispered excitedly rousing him from the stupor he'd fallen into while reading a dreadfully boring report on Chimaeras.

"What? What is it? Have you found the monster?" he asked straightening in his seat.

"No, but I think I've found a clue."

Harry perked up immediately. "What?" A clue wasn't the answer, but it was a start.

"We've already established that the strange voice only you've been able to hear must have something to do with the identity of the monster, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, maybe you're _not_ the only one who can hear it, but you're the only one who can understand it." The brunette pushed her borrowed copy of Hogwarts: A History on top of the book Harry was reading and pointed at the section on the four founders, or more specifically, Salazar Slytherin. "I was reading this in hopes that I could find something in the passage that could clue us in on what Slytherin's monster could be."

"And did you?"

"Somewhat. It says that Slytherin was famous for being one of the first blood purists as well as having the ability to speak parseltongue, the language of snakes. So what if his monster is some kind of snake? If it was, only he or one of his heirs would be able to understand, and more importantly, _control_ it."

"And you think _I_ can speak _parseltongue_?"

"You could very well be related to Slytherin on your father's side, the Potters were a very old pureblood family. In fact I'd be surprised if you _weren't_ distantly related to Slytherin."

Harry couldn't tell her that her hypothesis was wrong without telling her that he wasn't a Potter, at least not by blood, so he nodded and quickly moved the subject along. "Okay, say you're correct, and I am a parseltongue-"

"Parselmouth," Hermione corrected "Parseltongue is the language,"

"Okay, say I am a parselmouth, what kind of snake are we dealing with?"

"I don't know, I've never heard of a snake whose venom could petrify a person, let alone a ghost."

Harry froze as a thought struck him. "Who says it's venom that petrified them?" he whispered.

"Well what else could it be?"

Harry dove into his backpack and pulled out an old text he'd borrowed from the library, he quickly flipped to the passage he was looking for and paused to read it. "Listen to this. Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it."

"Hagrid said his roosters have been being killed off," Hermione whispered thoughtfully. "And the spiders…Oh my goodness Harry! But if it's a basilisk how has no one died? They've only been petrified."

"That's because no one's looked it directly in the eye. Colin saw it through his camera, Justin must've seen the basilisk through Nearly Headless Nick, Nick got the full blast of it, but he couldn't die again, and Mrs. Norris, I don't know if you noticed but the floor was covered in water that night, she must have seen its reflection in the water."

"We need to tell someone, Harry."

Harry nodded. "Go to Professor McGonagall. I'll get the others and I'll meet up with you."

"All right, hurry."

Before Hermione could run out of the library, Harry grabbed her wrist. "Wait." He transfigured a sheet of parchment into a mirror. "Use this to look around corners, just in case."

"Brilliant idea." Hermione gave him a quick hug. "Be careful, Harry." Then she dashed off.

Harry followed soon after with a mirror of his own; having to use the mirror to look around corners slowed him down considerably, but he eventually made it out of the school and out to the lake.

"Hey, mate!" Ron called being the first to notice him. "Come to join us?"

Harry shook his head. "We found out what Slytherin's monster is," he said. "No time to explain, I came to get you so we can tell McGonagall."

No one wasted any time asking questions, they simply gathered their things and followed Harry back up to the school. They managed to make it to the third floor before Harry heard a sound that made his blood freeze.

"_Kill this time… let me rip… tear…"_

"Oh no," he groaned, picking up the pace.

"What is it, Harry?" Neville asked.

Harry stopped their little progression. "Listen," he said, "tell me what you hear."

"_Hungry…so hungry…"_

"I hear something," Blaise said softly. "It sounds weird like a broken pipe or…"

"Or hissing," Harry said grimly.

The dark skinned boy looked at him in surprise. "Exactly. You can hear it to?"

"In a way."

"_Blood…filthy blood…not fit to eat…"_

Harry cursed and took off down the hall, following the voice that was steadily getting fainter. He was so focused on tracking the voice by ear he didn't notice the body until he tripped over it and went sprawling to the ground.

"Harry, are you all…" Neville's concerned voice trailed off into a strangled sort of gasp when he noticed the body.

"Oh, Merlin," Ron whispered.

Harry didn't need to look behind himself to know who he had tripped over, the familiar little mirror that rested on the ground told him everything he needed to know.

Hermione had fallen victim to the basilisk.

* * *

"Harry you need to sleep."

Harry ignored his father and continued flipping through his book.

"Harry it's much too late for you to be up researching, go to sleep."

"No."

"Haraldr, _sleep._"

Harry paused at the stern order. "I can't," he whispered, "Hermione needs me."

"Not like this. You're of no use to anyone in such a condition."

"I'm fine."

Loki grabbed the twelve year old by the shoulders and forced him to face him. "No you are _not_," he said angrily. "You haven't eaten in days and you haven't slept in longer, this is not healthy. You'll kill yourself if you continue on like this."

Harry glared down at his lap. "Would I?"

"Pardon?"

"Would I kill myself? Can I even die?"

"We all die."

"You know what I mean."

Loki sighed. "I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I mean, _I don't know_. You're mother's mortal blood is tainting my Asgardian blood, making it difficult to read."

"When _will_ we know?"

"Most likely when you reach maturity. Asgardians age far slower than mortals when they reach adulthood. If you all but stop aging then we know you're Asgardian blood is dominant, if you continue to age…"

"Then I'll age and die like a mortal."

"No!" Loki snarled. "No, you will not be dying."

Harry laughed hollowly. "It's not as if I have a choice."

"I will not see you die, little trickster."

Harry looked up at his father and for the first time Loki saw the fear he harbored reflecting in his eyes. Harry truly did not want to die, not because he desired immortality but because he feared what would happen to his father if he did. "Promise?" he asked in a small voice.

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

Harry laughed softly as he recalled the day he'd made the childish promise to his father. "Stick a needle in my eye."

Loki grinned and hooked pinkie fingers with his son. "I swear to you, I will not lie."

* * *

Harry rushed over to the library table his friends were seated around, startling them away from their books. "Moaning Myrtle's bathroom," he said face flushed and breathless with excitement.

Draco snapped his book shut and squinted up at Harry. "What?"

"The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is in the second floor girl's loo. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom."

Ron, Neville, Blaise, and Draco gaped at Harry in astonishment. "Wha-How did you come to that?" Neville managed to say.

Harry slapped an old newspaper down onto the table. "I was going through the library's newspaper archives earlier today, I wanted to see if there was anything about the first time the Chamber was opened and there was. It was first opened in 1942, and like now, the school was at risk of being shut down because of the petrifications of students. The school was saved when a student named Tom Riddle turned Hagrid in."

"Wanker," Ron muttered.

"Hagrid was expelled, but not before one student was killed in the very bathroom she still haunts today."

"Harry you're brilliant," Blaise grinned as he read over the article.

Ron stood up and began gathering his books. "We have to tell, McGonagall."

"Yes, because she was so much help when we told her about the basilisk." Draco sneered.

"There was nothing she could do, she didn't know _where_ the basilisk was. Now it's different."

Draco was stopped from responding when McGonagall's voice echoed throughout the library. "All students are to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately, please."

"Another attack?" Neville asked.

"We've never been sent to our dorms before."

Harry felt a growing sense of trepidation. "Come on," Harry threw his bag over his shoulder and hurried from the library.

"Where are we going?" Blaise asked.

"The staff room, we have to tell McGonagall."

The five boys raced up several flights of stairs and down the hall to the staff room, but they hesitated when they Lockhart ran out of the room and past them with not even a glance in their direction.

In his departure, he left the door open just a crack, but enough for them to hear McGonagall's voice float into the hall. "It has happened," they heard her say. " A student has been taken by the monster. Right into the chamber itself."

There were stunned noises from the room, then Professor Snape asked, "How can you be sure?"

"The Heir of Slytherin left another message. Right underneath the first one. _'Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.' _"

"Who is it?" asked Madam Hooch. "Which student?"

"Ginny Weasley," said Professor McGonagall.

Ron made a noise that sounded like a mix between a strangled gasp and a tortured moan.

"Ron," Harry whispered, reaching out to grab his friend before he collapsed, but the boy stumbled back several steps and looked at Harry with such a horrible expression of pain, he almost flinched away from him. And then Ron turned and ran away.

"Tell McGonagall everything we found out," Harry said, then turned and chased after Ron.

* * *

Harry was cursing his stupidity and all around bad luck as he stared down the wraith like figure that was slowly gaining more substance by the minute. After chasing Ron down to Myrtle's bathroom and finding exactly where the entrance was, he proved Hermione's deduction at least partially correct by ordering the entrance to open in parseltongue. When the sinks slid to the side, he and Ron leapt fearlessly into the long dark tunnel that led them miles beneath the school and directly into the Chamber. That's just about when everything went wrong.

Ron, who's wand was a hand me down from Charlie that never really worked properly for him, attempted a _lumos_ but instead of lighting the tip with a soft light as it should have, his wand sent of several bright red sparks that seemed harmless until they hit the stone roof. The resulting collapse of the ceiling was enormous and left the two boys stranded on opposite sides. Harry had contemplated moving the rocks with his magic, but quickly discarded the idea; not only did it have the potential to cause another collapse, but he wouldn't be able to move enough rocks to create a path for Ron without tiring himself out, and if he was facing a basilisk in his near future he needed to be at his best. So after a quick discussion with Ron, he moved deeper into the Chamber. Which led him to the position he was in now; listening as the sixteen year old memory of Lord Voldemort boasted to Harry, basically giving away all of his plans like the stereotypical super villain, with Ginny Weasley laying pale, and corpse-like at his feet.

As Voldemort, or Riddle in his current form, spoke, Harry focused on formulating a plan, he had to get both himself and Ginny out alive while evading the basilisk that was sure to be lurking around somewhere. On top of that, he had to find a way to get rid of Riddle, because if he didn't do it now the bastard was sure to turn up at the worst time imaginable. That was just the way it was with villains.

Harry was so deep in thought, he didn't realize Riddle had stopped speaking until he looked in his direction and found him watching him with a large amount of irritation.

He shook his head a bit, clearing it of the fog that had fallen as Riddle spoke. "Sorry, that was kind of a long speech, I think I zoned out somewhere in the middle, but I'm pretty sure I found my way back by the end. You said something about me defeating you, and the greatest wizard of all time, but what was the question again?"

"How?" Riddle snarled.

"How did I defeat you?" Harry shrugged. "Well you're not near as great as you think you are. I reckon I have more power in my pinkie finger than you do running through your entire body."

"Is that what you think?" Harry nodded. "Well, let's see how mighty you feel after facing my pet." Riddle turned and looked up at the enormous statue of Salazar Slytherin glaring down at them. "_Speak to me Slytherin_," he hissed in parseltongue, "_greatest of the Hogwarts four_."

With a deep, creaking rumble, Slytherin's mouth slid open and, as Harry watched in fascinated horror, something deep inside of it stirred and slowly slithered out.

When the head of the enormous snake became visible, Harry conjured a blindfold and tied it around his eyes, then, with a deep exhalation, spread his magic so he could "see" the magical auras in the room. A useful skill that he had never needed to use, until now that is.

Ginny's weakening aura indicated that she was still only a few feet away from him, lying prone on the ground, while Riddle's dark aura hung above her, a thin string connected them, drawing magic from Ginny and siphoning it into Riddle. Harry tore his eyes from the horrible sight and looked at the snake, the thing was enormous, easily sixty feet long and pulsing with a poisonous green aura.

"All right," Harry muttered to himself, he with one hand he drew his wand and with the other he drew the dagger Loki had gifted him, "let's kill us a basilisk."

* * *

It took several cutting curses aimed at the horrible creature's eyes and an Asgardian blade through the roof of its mouth to kill the basilisk, and even then, Harry still felt as if he had lost, or maybe that was just the basilisk venom coursing through his veins talking.

"You're dead, Harry Potter," Harry heard Riddle's voice from a distance, as if he were speaking through a tunnel. "The basilisk venom will kill you in minutes, and I'm going to sit here and watch as you die. Take your time. I'm in no hurry."

Harry fell to his knees beside Ginny and the diary, his bloodless fingers shook but, somehow, he managed to keep a hold on his dagger.

"So ends the famous Harry Potter," Riddle whispered. "Alone in the Chamber of Secrets, forsaken by his friends, defeated at last by the Dark Lord he so unwisely challenged. You'll be back with your dear Mudblood mother soon, Harry. She bought you twelve years of borrowed time, but Lord Voldemort got you in the end, as you knew he must."

"What did I tell you earlier?" Harry managed to gasp. "You're not half as great as you think you are." Then he slammed his venom coated dagger into the cover of the diary.

There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted out of the diary in torrents, streaming over Harry's hands, flooding the floor. Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing, and then he was gone.

The knife fell from his limp fingers and Harry collapsed into the puddle of ink, he no longer had the strength to hold himself up.

"Dad," he whispered hoarsely, "Dad, I need you."

For a moment, all was still and Harry feared that he would die alone, just as Riddle had predicted, but then there was a flash of green and gold and suddenly Loki was there, kneeling in the ink and blood beside him.

"Where is it?" he asked frantically. "Where are you hurt? What do I need to fix?"

"'s not something you can fix," Harry gasped. "Basilisk bit me."

"Where? Where is it, Harry?"

"Arm."

Loki gently grabbed the injured arm and pushed back the tattered, blood soaked sleeve. He gasped when he took in the severity of the injury, but he pushed aside his growing horror and placed a hand over the bloody wound. Carefully, he began siphoning the poison from Harry's blood, but with all of the venom that slowly joined the ink and blood on the ground, Harry could still feel so much more mingling with his blood.

"It's not working," Loki growled in frustration. "Why isn't it working?"

Harry felt something hot and wet his face, he looked up and realized with a jolt that his father was _crying._

"It's okay," he whispered. "It doesn't hurt that bad anymore."

"No! I will not let you die."

"W-will you tell Uncle Thor about me? About how much I loved all of the stories about-about him and how bull headed and absolutely Gryffindor he is?"

"You will tell him yourself," Loki snarled.

Harry gasped when the fire raging in his body faltered and something cold, and brutal, and not _human_ attacked, and suddenly fire and ice were at war, fighting a bloody and brutal battle with his body as the battleground. His body writhed in pain and screams tore themselves from his throat, the pain was unbearable; he was hot and cold all at the same time and he wished it would just end. Finally, after what felt like ages, the ice beat the fire into submission and the last of the venom drained from Harry's wound. But instead of settling back into the dormant state it had been in before, the ice spread through Harry's veins as the fire had, twining with his magic. However, unlike the fire, the ice didn't feel particularly bad, it felt safe.

"Harry?" Loki cried pulling the small boy into his arms. "Harry?"

"I'm all right," the twelve year old whispered, "I'm fine."

And suddenly Loki was crushing him to his chest, running trembling fingers through his hair and gently rocking back and forth. "Oh, thank you," he whispered. "I thought I lost you."

"I'm fine," Harry assured him. "I'm fine. You did it, you healed me."

As Loki slowly regained control over his emotions, he looked down at his son confusion in his eyes. "Harry," he said, "that wasn't me."

Before Harry could find the words to respond, a soft moan sounded behind them, reminding Harry that they weren't alone. "Dad, you have to go."

"As if you could make me leave after you almost died."

"Dad, Ginny will see you and all of those years spent keeping this a secret will be for nothing."

Loki glared at Harry, but there was a look of resignation shining in his eyes. "I will remain close," then he disappeared.

The moment he was gone, Harry scrambled to his feet and hurried to Ginny's side just as her eyes fluttered open. She looked at the huge form of the dead basilisk in confusion, then over to Harry, in his blood-soaked robes, then to the diary lying beside him. She drew a great, shuddering gasp and tears began to pour down her face. "What have I done?" she whispered.

"Nothing," Harry said firmly. "None of this was your fault," he grabbed the diary and held it up so she could see the gaping hole punched straight through it. "And the person who's behind it is no longer around to cause any more trouble."

"But it was me," Ginny wept as Harry helped her to her feet, "I'm the one who did it. I'm going to be expelled! I've looked forward to coming to Hogwarts ever since B-Bill came and n-now I'll have to leave and…w-what'll Mum and Dad say?"

Harry gently led the sobbing girl from the Chamber and down the dark tunnel, it took them several long minutes to get through the tunnel, made even longer by Ginny's slow pace, but eventually they made it back to the cave in.

"Ron," Harry called, "Ginny's all right, I've got her."

He heard Ron give a strangled cheer, and they turned the next bend to see his eager face staring through the sizable gap he had managed to make in the rock wall.

"Ginny!" Ron thrust an arm through the gap in the rock to pull her through first. "You're alive! I don't believe it! What happened? I heard the most horrible noises coming from down the tunnel, but I couldn't be sure what was going on."

"I'll explain once we get out of here." Harry said once he had shimmied through the gap. "Now come on, I don't want to be here a second longer than we have to be."

Harry bent down and looked up the long, dark pipe. "Have you thought how we're going to get back up this?" he asked Ron, who shook his head. Sighing softly, Harry reached out and placed a hand on the wall, he could feel latent magic running through them.

"_Up,_" he hissed in parseltongue, nothing happened. "Um, all right _stairs_?" with a low rumble, stairs pulled from the wall, giving the group of three an easy path up.

"Up we go then."

The trek to the top of the pipe was long and exhausting, they must have been miles under the school, and was made in complete silence. When they finally reached the top, Harry hissed the password to reopen the entrance and they climbed out of the pipe, only to be accosted by both Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore, the Weasley parents, Moaning Myrtle, and Neville, Draco, and Blaise.

"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley screamed and grabbed her daughter into hug, Mr. Weasley soon joined in. "Oh, thank Merlin, you're safe."

"Harry got to me just in time, Mum," the redheaded first year said.

And suddenly Harry found himself in a bone crushing hug. "You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?"

"I think we'd all like to know that." Professor McGonagall said placing a hand over her heaving chest.

"Could we perhaps go to somewhere a bit more comfortable?"

"Professor Lockhart's office is close by, and as of now it's empty."

"What happened to Lockhart?" Ron asked.

"We gave him the task of finding Miss Weasley and he, unfortunately, fled," McGonagall didn't sound as if she would miss the blonde author in the slightest.

The unusual group trouped to the man's empty office, and settled down to listen to Harry's tale. He, for the most part, told them everything, only leaving out his injury and Loki's presence.

"You mean to tell us, you killed a sixty foot basilisk," McGonagall asked incredulously, "with a _dagger_?"

"Yes, ma'am." Harry nodded.

"May we see this dagger?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry hesitated for a moment before reluctantly pulling the dagger from the sheath tucked under his sleeve and handed it to the Headmaster.

Dumbledore studied the knife carefully, testing the balance, examining the hilts design, and holding it only inches away from his eye.

"I cannot be certain what metal this is," he finally concluded, "as it is nothing I am familiar with, although it looks goblin forged. I do know, however, that whatever this blade is made from, the element has absorbed the venom, making this a very dangerous weapon." He looked at Harry over his half-moon spectacles. "Wherever did you get such a tool, Mr. Potter?"

"My aunt gave it to me," Harry lied smoothly, "right before I left for Hogwarts. She said it was my mother's, that she carried it with her everywhere before her death, so I've done much the same."

"I never noticed," Dumbledore smiled kindly at Harry. "As I said, this is a dangerous weapon, perhaps I should hold onto it for you, just until you're a bit older."

"No," Harry said sharply. "I'm sorry, Headmaster, but that is the one of the only things I have left of my mother and I will not entrust it to anyone but myself. If it is my safety or the safety of the students you are worried about, I will take it home and leave it there, but I'm afraid I can't allow you to keep it."

Dumbledore's kind smile dimmed just a fraction. "No, I understand, dear boy. And there is no need to leave it home, I trust you to handle it responsibly."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Harry retrieved his dagger and quickly slipped it back into its sheath.

After that, the conversation quickly turned to Ginny's possession and the diary that had caused so much trouble. When that had concluded, Ginny and her parents left for the infirmary and McGonagall went to the kitchens to prepare a late night feast. Harry and his friends left soon after her, following the three Weasley's path to the infirmary. The mandrake potion needed to wake the petrified had been finished that afternoon which meant Hermione would be woken up soon, and they wanted to be there to tell her all about what had gone on while she was unaware.


	7. Chapter Seven

Summertime had always been Harry's least favorite time of the year, the air always got so heavy and _hot_ and there was nothing Harry liked less than heat. But this year seemed to be especially miserable as, whenever he so much as stepped outside, he felt lightheaded and crabby, nothing to be particularly worried about, but it irritated him nonetheless. And his horrible mood was not helped along when, midway through the summer, he received the news that Marge Dursley, Vernon's vile sister would be visiting for a week.

Harry absolutely detested Marge Dursley. The last time the woman visited was a year before his first year at Hogwarts, the woman was far too much like her brother both appearance and attitude-wise. That is to say, absolutely foul.

A few hours after noon, on the day of Marge's arrival, Harry was seated at his desk reading a book on runes of Ancient Egypt when he heard the crunch of gravel outside as Vernon pulled the car into the drive. Sighing, he set his book down and headed downstairs to greet their guest.

"Where's my Dudders?" roared the woman the moment sh entered the house. "Where's my neffy poo?"

Dudley waddled into the hall and allowed his aunt to sweep him into a one armed hug (one had her demon dog, Ripper, tucked under it) and smack a big kiss on his fat cheek.

Once she'd finished with Dudley, Marge moved onto Petunia, but she didn't acknowledge Harry until everyone had settled around the table for tea. "So! Still here, are you?" she barked.

"Trust me," Harry said, calmly sipping his tea, "if I had somewhere better to be, I'd be there in a heartbeat."

"Don't you take that tone with me, boy, and you better show your aunt and uncle some respect. They took you in when I would have sent you straight to the orphanage."

"So I've been told." Harry placed his tea cup down and stood up from the table. "Well, as pleasant as this has been, and trust me your very presence lights up my life, I have a million and one things I should be doing, and losing brain cells conversing with you is not one of them."

Harry left the kitchen with Marge's outraged voice following him, ranting rubbish about bad eggs and taking the cane to him. He snorted softly to himself, he would absolutely love to see her try.

* * *

Harry knew he shouldn't, that it was immature and simply courting trouble, but he couldn't help but goad Marge for her entire visit. Riling her up helped ease the irritation the summer's heat brought on, plus, the way her face turned bright red whenever he commented on his relatives overall uselessness was just too amusing.

By the time the dinner of her last night with them rolled around, Marge had reached her limit of disrespectful comments, any more and she would surely explode. And, if his aunt, uncle, and cousin's tense stances when they settled at the dinner table were anything to go by, they knew it too.

They managed to get through soup and salmon with no problem, and Vernon delayed any confrontations during dessert by boring every one half to death with talk about his company; it was when coffee was served and Marge helped herself to a large glass of brandy that everything went to hell.

The conversation started off innocently enough, Marge complimented Petunia on a wonderful dinner and lamented the fact that she didn't have the time to cook herself a proper meal when she was at home, then it moved onto her admiring Dudley's wide girth until, finally, she turned to Harry and, with a nasty sneer, attempted to put him down.

"This one," she said, giving Harry a once over, "he's got a mean, runty look about him. You get that with dogs. I had Colonel Fubster drown one last year, ratty little thing it was. Weak. Underbred."

Vernon and Petunia looked apprehensively to Harry, but he was contentedly eating his second slice of pie. Calm as could be.

"It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day. Bad blood will out. Now, I'm saying nothing against your family, Petunia but your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here's the result right in front of us."

"This Potter," Aunt Marge sad, seizing the brandy bottle and splashing more into her glass and over the tablecloth, "you never told me what he did."

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were looking extremely tense, Dudley had even looked up from his pie to gape at his parents. They all knew that the one thing that really made Harry angry, was insulting his parents.

"He was law enforcement," Uncle Vernon said with half a glance at Harry. "Worked with Scotland Yard."

"And he probably abused his position!" Aunt Marge scoffed, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. "A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scoundrel who would have-"

"Enough," Harry said so dangerously calmly, Marge actually fell silent. "You may say anything you want about me, heaven knows I can take it. But I refuse to sit back and listen as you befoul my parents' names. You will keep their names, and anything to do with them, _out _of your mouth."

In the seconds following Harry's little speech, Marge made her second mistake of the night (the first being insulting his parents), the obese woman leaned forward and, with a breath reeking of liquor, said simply, "Or what?"

Oh how he'd been hoping she'd ask that, a slow, malicious smile crossed Harry's face, his emerald eyes bored into Marge's beady blue ones. Suddenly, the woman began retching violently.

"Marge?" Vernon whimpered. "Marge what's wrong?"

The woman gave a shuddering heave and several large snails spilled from her mouth and landed with wet _plops_ directly onto the table. Vernon and Dudley leapt to their feet as fast as their considerable weights allowed, and Petunia pushed her chair away from the table with a loud, horrified scream. Harry and Marge remained the only two sitting; the former watching as the latter began coughing up slugs in earnest. Her face first turned red as the constant flow of slugs cut off her breathing and as seconds passed she slowly turned blue.

"She's had enough!" Vernon shouted "She's learned her lesson, she won't say another word against you _or_ your parents, just stop before you kill her!"

Harry looked to up at his uncle with glacial emerald eyes. "I expect you to keep your word, Uncle," he said coldly as the flow of snails halted and Marge was able to gasp in several shuddering breaths, "or next time, we'll see just how blue her face can turn."

Calmly he stood from the table. "I trust that you all are aware that if any of you speak a word of tonight's events to anyone the consequences," Marge burped up another slug, "will be dire to say the least."

The moment Harry was out of the dining room and up the stairs, he stumbled into the bathroom and leaned heavily on the countertop. That was the first time he had ever lost control of his emotions and his magic and it wasn't a pleasant feeling, just thinking about what he'd almost done to Marge made him feel dirty.

Quickly, he stripped down and stepped into the shower, but the moment the hot water came into contact with his skin he hissed and turned the water as cold as it could go. The heat hadn't been painful per se, but it was horribly uncomfortable. As the water cooled, Harry's muscles relaxed and the ice surging in his veins calmed. He found himself doing this a lot lately, especially this summer, whenever he was upset or tense he got into the shower and ran the water as cold as it would get. It was odd, but he just passed it off as one of his many abnormalities, there was no cause for worry. At least, that was what he had been trying to tell himself.

* * *

"Harry! Harry, could I have a second?"

The thirteen year old wizard paused in the act of hefting his trunk onto the train and turned to find Arthur Weasley waving to him over the crowd. Harry had first met Ron's father here at King's Cross at the end of his first year, and since then he found he liked the eccentric man.

"Of course, Mr. Weasley," he said moving to stand beside the man. "You can have all the seconds you need."

The Weasley patriarch smiled down at him. "I appreciate that, but I won't take up too much of your time. I need to speak with you about Sirius Black, you _have_ heard the hubbub surrounding him, correct?"

"Of course," Harry nodded, the Daily Prophet was delivered to his room in Privet Drive every morning. He would have been hard pressed to miss all of the news surrounding the first man to ever break out of Azkaban.

"Yes well, we, we being the Ministry of Magic and I, have a reason to believe that Sirius Black broke out of Azkaban for you."

"What? Why would you think that?"

"I can't say, this is all very hush hush, I've broken a million rules just to tell you this. But I wanted to warn you to be careful this year. Do you plan on going to Hogsmeade?"

"Yes, my uncle signed my form the moment I got it."

"Okay, well when you go, make sure to stay where people can see you, don't go wandering off and _stay with your friends_. Can you do that for me?"

"Don't worry, Mr. Weasley, I think I can manage that."

Mr. Weasley clapped him on the shoulder. "Good lad. Now go on, don't want to miss the train, have a good term."

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley."

Once the elder Weasley wandered off, Harry boarded the train and, after poking his head into several compartments, a few of which held a group of giggling first years, a snogging couple, and oddly enough, a sleeping man who looked old enough to be his father, found Ron and Neville sitting in an otherwise empty compartment.

They exchanged quick greetings and settled down to play a game of exploding snap. "So what did my dad say to you, Harry?" Ron asked when they were well into the game.

"Hmmm?" the Slytherin said absently. "Oh, he just warned me to be careful this year because he and the Ministry think Sirius Black is after me."

Neville didn't throw his card down in time, which resulted in a small explosion, but neither he nor Ron seemed to care as they were too busy gaping at Harry. "_What?_" they exclaimed in unison.

Harry shrugged. "He didn't give me any more than that, he said he was breaking rules just by telling me that much."

"Blimey!" Ron cried "So he just dropped it on you and then just said '_Sorry can't tell you any more than that?'_"

"Any more than what?" Draco asked, sauntering into the compartment with Hermione and Blaise close behind.

"Talking about anything off interest?" Blaise asked, plopping down in the seat beside Harry.

"Yeah, apparently Sirius Black is after Harry," Ron said, "but my dad didn't have the decency to tell him why."

"He probably wants to prove his innocence to you before going trying to prove it to the rest of the world," Draco said faux-casually, his pointed face had suddenly taken on a rather shifty expression.

"What? Why?"

"Well, if I had a godson who'd spent the last twelve years thinking I'd betrayed his parents, my best friends, to You-Know-Who, I'd want to clear the air with him before I tried to find a way to prove my innocence in regards to the murder of twelve muggles and my other best friend."

Harry stared blankly at Draco. "All right, I'm pretty sure I'm missing some important details here," he said weakly.

"A few days ago my father had a few…associates over to discuss Black's escape," Draco said. "They foolishly forgot to close the door to my father's study and I was able to catch a word or two of what they were saying."

"What were they saying, Draco?"

"I reckon you didn't know Sirius Black was your godfather, did you?"

Harry shook his head impatiently.

"Yes, apparently he and your father were the best of friends while in Hogwarts, along with two other men by the name of Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. When you were born he was granted the title of godfather," Draco explained. "As everyone knows, a few months after your birth, You-Know-Who suddenly got it into his head that your parents were his next target, so they packed up and all three of you went into hiding under the Fidelius; an extremely difficult spell that hides the secret of a person's location in a single person, a Secret Keeper. Basically that means that You-Know-Who could have had his nose pressed against your window, but he wouldn't have even seen it unless the Secret Keeper told him where it was. Black was made the Secret Keeper, at least that's what everybody thought.

"According to my father and company, Peter Pettigrew, somehow ended up as Secret Keeper and gave your parents' location to You-Know-Who. Not even a day after their murder, Black was arrested for murdering thirteen people, twelve muggles and one wizard. That one wizard being Peter Pettigrew. But the odd thing is, all the bodies were accounted for except Pettigrew's; all that could be found of him was a small smattering of blood and an index finger. Of course, no one found that strange, they figured Pettigrew took the full force of Black's blast and was blasted into little specks of dust because of it," the blonde snorted, showing just how ridiculous he found the notion to be. "Black was arrested for the murders and carted off to Azkaban without a trial."

"Is that legal?" Hermione asked.

Draco shrugged. "Probably not, but at the time the wizarding world was at war, laws didn't apply to Death Eater's."

"Why is it I'm always the last to know these sort of things?" Harry exclaimed. "It would have been nice to know that the supposed mass murder roaming the streets was my godfather. Honestly." He sighed in exasperation. "Say what you heard is correct and Black really is innocent, what does that mean for us?"

Ron was the one to respond with a tone that conveyed that he thought the answer should be obvious. "Well we're going to help the poor bloke out, obviously."

* * *

Unfortunately, the chance to help the maybe innocent convict was not as forthcoming as the group of friends had hoped. Months passed and no one saw neither hide nor hair of Sirius Black. The first sighting of him wasn't until Halloween.

It was after the Halloween feast, Harry, Blaise, and Draco had only just settled down in the common room when Snape came sweeping in and herded everyone back to the hall without a single explanation.

"The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle," Professor Dumbledore told the confused students as Professors McGonagall and Flitwick closed all doors into the hall. "I'm afraid that, for your own safety, you will have to spend the night here. I want the prefects to stand guard over the entrances to the hall and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbance should be reported to me immediately," he added to Percy, who was looking immensely proud and important. "Send word with one of the ghosts."

Professor Dumbledore paused, about to leave the hall, and said, "Oh, yes, you'll be needing…"

One casual wave of his wand and the long tables flew to the edges of the hall and stood themselves against the walls; another wave, and the floor was covered with hundreds of squashy purple sleeping bags. "Sleep well."

Immediately, Harry, Blaise, and Draco hunted down their Ravenclaw and Gryffindor friends and quickly pulled six sleeping bags into a fairly secluded corner. As it turned out, Hermione, like the three Slytherins, had no idea what was going on, it was Ron and Neville who had all of the information.

"It was Black," Neville told them. "Apparently he tried to get into the Gryffindor common room, but when the Fat Lady, the woman who guards the entrance, wouldn't let him in he went berserk and just started hacking away at her with a knife. We weren't there when it happened, but Peeves saw everything and told Dumbledore what he saw."

"This doesn't make any sense," Hermione said. "Why would Black be going to Gryffindor tower when Harry's a Slytherin?"

"Maybe he didn't know," Ron suggested. "Maybe he figured he'd be Gryffindor, like his mum and dad."

"Any sane person would know to do some research on their target before just barreling in," the Ravenclaw refuted.

"Well, maybe that just it," Harry said, "Black's spent twelve years in Azkaban, chances are he's not very sane."

* * *

"Scabbers is missing." Ron moaned, squeezing in between Neville and Hermione at the Slytherin table.

Everyone but the redhead's fellow Gryffindor looked at him with confusion. "Who?" Harry asked.

"His rat," Neville said, sympathetically patting Ron on the shoulder. "Had him since first year."

Harry vaguely recalled being introduced to the fat gray rat on his first ever ride on the Hogwart's Express, the memory also reminded him of the other Gryffindor's toad. "Hey Neville, whatever happened to your toad, Trevor? I haven't seen him around in a while."

"He escaped into the lake," Neville shrugged, he didn't look too upset about that.

"You had a _toad_, Longbottom?" Draco laughed.

"He was a gift, from my uncle."

"That was how we met him." Harry nudged his friends shoulder "He came into Ron and my compartment looking for his lost toad,"

"Harry found him under the seat and mistook him for his wayward chocolate frog."

"Oi!" Ron cried indignantly. "We were talkingabout _Scabbers_, we should be lamenting his loss, putting together search parties, not reminiscing on the good old days."

"Big words, Ron," Hermione teased, which earned her a scathing look from the redhead.

"I don't see why you're so worked up about it," Neville said. "All you ever did was complain about how fat and useless he was."

"He's been in the family for a long time," Ron said petulantly.

"Maybe, like Trevor, it was his time to go," Harry said mock solemnly.

"You make it sound like they're dead!"

* * *

During one of Loki's frequent visits to Hogwarts, he and Harry ventured deep into the Forbidden Forest to have a semblance of privacy as they practiced hand-to-hand sparring. Harry was slowly improving with practice and age; he'd barely been able to defend himself the previous, but the thirteen year old was now able to go against Loki and win as many times as he lost. With a few more years of practice, he might even be able to go against Thor or even the fearsome warrior Lady Sif, and actually have a chance at winning.

The fact that Harry had gained his Asgardian strength, speed, and endurance, gave Loki hope that, maybe, he had inherited his mortality, or lack thereof, as well.

"No more," Harry finally said after several hours had passed. "Let's take a break, I'm exhausted."

"Would you like to work on your mannerisms?" Loki asked as he gingerly settled down onto the ground beside Harry. "Your disdainful glares and upturning of the nose at those beneath you could use a little work."

Harry groaned. "How about we just relax? Let's talk."

"About what?"

"What has Uncle Thor been getting into recently?"

Loki winced at the mention of his brother. "Ah, your uncle has been getting into all sorts of mischief as of late," he said. "And none of the good kind either."

"Oh, there are good kinds?" Harry teased.

"Why of course." Loki pretended to be offended. "I am the very embodiment of mischief, and do I look all bad to you?"

His son gave him a glancing once over and then shrugged. "About fifty-fifty to me."

Loki huffed a laugh. "I suppose I'll have to take that." Harry settled his head in the older man's lap and closed his eyes in contentment when fingers began carding through his hair. "How have you been, little trickster?"

"So far this has been my most peaceful year, especially compared to last year. It's nice."

Loki laughed softly, but his heart twinged painfully at the reminder of the incident in the Chamber last year, and how he had nearly lost his son. That was not an experience he was ever willing to go through again.

"We, my friends and I that is, have been trying to find Sirius Black though."

The trickster god groaned in exasperation. "Why ever are you trying to find him? Do you enjoy causing me worry?"

"We think he's innocent," Harry assured his distressed father. "Some of the things that happened the night and the days following Mum and James' deaths don't add up."

"How so?"

Harry explained everything he knew and everything he and his friends had concluded, and then waited patiently to hear what Loki had to say about it.

"I think you may be right," he said and Harry was able to breathe easy again, "but _please_ at least try to be careful if you ever come face to face with him. I would never forgive myself if something were to happen to you."

Harry crossed an X over his chest, it was a childish muggle quirk but it made them both feel better when the gesture was made and the words were spoken. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

* * *

"Finally, we're done with these blasted exams," Neville moaned after exiting the last exam of the year.

"I'm saying," Harry agreed. "Is it just me, or did they seem especially horrible this year?"

"Oh, it wasn't just you," Blaise said. "The Professors were ruthless."

"Let's head over to Hagrid's," Hermione suggested. "We haven't visited in a while now."

"I could use some tea," Ron agreed.

The group all chorused their assent, then headed out of the school and down to Hagrid's hut.

"Well aren't you lot a sight fer sore eyes," Hagrid greeted when they arrived on his doorstep. "Just finished exams?" he laughed at the cacophony of groans his question earned. "All righ', how 'bout a cup of tea and some fudge?"

"That would be fantastic, Hagrid," Hermione beamed. "Thank you."

"Ah, it's my pleasure, Hermione. Could you grab the milk pitcher ou' the cupboard fer me?"

"Of course," Hermione bustled around the table, helping Hagrid make the tea as the others conversed softly, but when she went to pour milk into the pitcher she let out a shriek and dropped the milk bottle onto the table. "Oh my goodness," she shoved the pitcher under Ron's nose. "Please tell me that's Scabbers."

Ron cautiously peered into the pitcher and gasped in delight when he saw the grimy gray rat curled up at the bottom "Scabbers!" he cried. "What're you doing in there?"

"Oh, thank Merlin," Hermione sighed. "That thing gave me such a fright."

Ron reached into the pitcher and grabbed the struggling rat. Harry didn't remember the rodent much, but he did recall that Scabbers hadn't looked half as horrible as he did now. He was incredibly thin, and had large tufts of hair that had fallen out leaving wide bald patches all over his body, and just like the last time Harry saw him, he felt as if there were something _off_ with the animal.

"It's okay, Scabbers!" Ron said soothingly. "I've got you now! You're all right."

"That thing looks revolting," Draco said wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Yeah, well how would you look if you'd been missing for going on four months now?"

"Much better than that, I can assure you."

Harry conjured a hasty cage. "Here, you can put him in that until we're ready to go, he looks ready to run off again."

"Thanks, mate," Ron said in relief, quickly shoving the squirming rat into the cage and latching the door shut.

Ron, Harry, Draco, Neville, Hermione, and Blaise hung around Hagrid's house for several more hours, enjoying their enormous cups of tea and just catching up with the gamekeeper. Somewhere around the second hour, Scabbers exhausted himself and gave up wildly scratching and running around his cage. But when the sun finally began to set, Harry and his friends decided to head back in for dinner rather than eating with Hagrid; they all bid the man a good night, then headed back up to the castle.

The trek up was made in silent save for their quiet breaths and soft grunts whenever they reached a particularly steep hill, until suddenly Scabbers began squealing wildly, running around in the cage and trying to gnaw through the bars.

"What the hell?" Ron cried bringing the cage up to his eyes. "What's wrong with you, Scabbers?"

"Look," Harry pointed ahead, "I think it's Crookshanks that's got him frightened."

They all turned to watch as Hermione's bowlegged cat crept toward them, his body low to the ground, wide yellow eyes glinting eerily in the darkness.

"Crookshanks, go away," Hermione told her cat firmly. "Scabbers is not a snack."

Crookshanks hissed angrily, but otherwise listened to his mistress. Everyone was so focused on watching the cat slink off, none of them noticed that Crookshanks wasn't the animal they needed to be worried about until it was much too late.

The soft pounding of gigantic paws was the noise that first alerted them to oncoming danger, followed by the sound of heavy pants and Scabbers squeals reaching a crescendo of terror. Harry spun around just in time to see something bounding toward them, quiet as a shadow, an enormous, pale-eyed, jet-black dog. He reached for his wand, but it was too late, the dog had made an enormous leap and the front paws hit him on the chest. But the force of its leap had carried it too far, it rolled off him but, far from deterred, the beast skidded around for a new attack.

The dog sprang toward Ron and fastened it jaws around Ron's outstretched arm. Harry lunged forward, he seized a handful of the brute's hair, but it was dragging Ron away as easily as though he were a rag doll. And then, out of nowhere, something hit Harry so hard across the face he was knocked off his feet again, he heard the others cry out with pain as well.

Harry groped for his wand, blinking blood out of his eyes. "_Lumos_."

The dim wand light illuminated the scene and Harry realized that they were standing in the shadow of the Whomping Willow who didn't seem to appreciate their presence at all.

"Let go of me you bloody beast!"

Harry turned just in time to see Ron's foot disappear into a large gap in the roots, and then he was off, dodging the trees flying branches all the while praying he wasn't too late until he was nestled safely among the roots watching as his friends danced just out of the tree's reach. "What to do? What to do?" he muttered, he couldn't leave his friends, not after what happened the last two times, but Ron needed his help.

"You have to find a way to immobilize the tree, Harry," Hermione called out to him.

"With what, a stunning spell?" he called back sarcastically, but already he was leaning against the trunk thinking up different ways to freeze the tree just as quickly as he was discarding them. As he frantically attempted to come up with something, a small form darted beside him and pressed an inconspicuous knot on the tree's trunk, and just like that the Whomping Willow froze, looking for all the world as if it hadn't just been trying to beat them into the ground.

Harry turned just in time to see a fluffy bottlebrush tail disappear into the gap in the roots. "Come on," he called to his friends, then dove in after Crookshanks. The tunnel under the tree was a low, cramped place that sloped steeply, and seemed to go on forever, Harry felt as if he were walking for hours before he _finally_ saw a patch of dim light glowing from an opening up ahead. Moving even faster now that the end was in sight, he quickly reached the end of the tunnel and found himself in a room heavy with dust and debris.

"Where are we?" Neville asked as he and the others joined Harry in the disorderly room.

Harry looked around contemplatively. "My guess is the Shrieking Shack," he whispered. Above their heads, something creaked ominously, someone was up there. "This is your last chance to turn back." he told them.

Draco was paler than usual, but he snorted and spoke with his usual bravado. "Please, Potter, and let you have all the fun?"

Harry grinned at him, then they began to move. As quietly as the old floorboards would allow, they crept out into the hall and up the crumbling staircase. Along the ground ran a wide shiny stripe that had been made by something being dragged upstairs.

When they reached the landing, Harry paused to put out the light at the end of his wand, and then moved toward the only room with an open door. "Wands out," he whispered, then pushed the door as wide as it could go.

The room, like the rest of the house, was filthy and run down, most of the space was taken up by a large four poster bed that both Ron and Crookshanks were perched on. Crookshanks was sitting in the center purring happily at the sight of them, and Ron was bunched in the corner, pale with fright and with his arms wrapped protectively around Scabbers' cage.

He looked over to the group when they entered the room and gave them a small, grim smile. "I hope we were right, about him being innocent," he said shakily, "because, like it or not, we found Black."

Harry spun around just in time to see the man in the shadows close the door behind them with a decisive snap.

"Sirius Black," he said softly.

"Harry Potter," the man replied with a voice hoarse and croaky from disuse.

"I must say you've seen better days." A mass of filthy, matted hair hung to his elbows in greasy clumps, if eyes hadn't been shining out of the deep, dark sockets, he might have been a corpse. The waxy skin was stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, it looked like a skull.

Black laughed scratchily and looked at Harry with something akin to curiosity. "Is that all you have to say to me? After all these years, weren't you able to think of one thing you'd like to say to your parent's murderer?"

"Oh trust me, I've thought of plenty and when I do I've got quite the verbal thrashing prepared for him."

Black looked confused and, dare he say, hopeful. "But…?"

"But you're not him, are you, Sirius?" Harry took a tentative step toward the man. "You were never my parents' Secret Keeper, you weren't the one to betray them to Voldemort, and, if our guesses prove correct, you weren't the one who killed twelve muggles and the traitor who did."

"How-how did you know…?"

Harry gestured to Draco. "It pays to have friends who have fathers who don't know how to keep their mouths shut." Draco snorted softly in amusement. "So tell me, Sirius, are we correct in believing you're innocent?"

Black licked his chapped lips, then shakily nodded his head. "I-I…yes…you're correct."

Harry studied the man's face carefully, searching for even the slightest sign of deceit. His father was the god of lies and he'd inherited certain abilities from him, if any word Black said was anything but the truth he would have known immediately, but the man was telling the truth.

"I believe you," the thirteen year old said, and then moved over to Black's side, wrapping an arm around the man's waist he gently moved him to the bed. "Now sit down, you don't look well enough to be standing for so long, not after all you've done today."

Black looked at Harry in confusion. "That's it-" his words were cut off when the door flew open and their kindly Professor Lupin strode into the room, wand drawn and body tense, but when he noticed the fairly relaxed atmosphere and the way Harry was hovering protectively over Black he paused.

"What…?"

"Hello, Professor Lupin," Harry greeted cheerfully as he settled down beside Black. "Have you come to join us? Sirius here was just about to tell us his version of what happened Halloween night and the morning after twelve years ago."

"What…?" the man repeated.

"How did you know we were here, Professor?" Hermione asked curiously.

"I-I was on my way into the castle," Lupin stuttered, "when I-I saw Sirius attack. I came as fast as I could."

Harry looked up at Black in surprise. "That was you? You were that great, hulking beast?"

"Animagus," Ron said.

"Ah, that makes sense."

"What is going on?" Lupin snapped, pointing his wand at Black. "Harry do you know who this man is? What he's done?"

"I know who he is," Harry said standing up and stepping in front of Black, shielding him from Lupin and his wand. "And I know what everyone _thinks_ he's done, but right now it's time for Sirius to tell his side of the story, will you listen?"

"I-"

"Brilliant," Harry waved his wand and Lupin's flew into his hand. "I'll just hold onto this for you while we listen. Now everyone pull up a seat…or, er floor, it's story time."

"I-I don't know where to begin," Black muttered.

"Why don't we start with the reason you're here?"

"What?"

"Well, at first my friends and I thought you were here for me, but you proved time and time again that that wasn't the case. So tell me, if you didn't break out of Azkaban and come to Hogwarts for me, who did you come for?"

Black stared at Harry for one long second, and then he raised one gnarled hand and pointed to Ron.

"Me?" the redhead cried. "Why'd you come here for me?"

"Not you," Black said, "the rat,"

Lupin finally seemed to notice the caged rat encircled in Ron's arms, slowly he crossed the room to get a better look. "Merlin, is that…?" he whispered

"Yes."

"But then," Lupin muttered, staring at Black so intently it seemed he was trying to read his mind, "why hasn't he shown himself before now? Unless…" Lupin's eyes suddenly widened, as though he was seeing something beyond Black, something the rest of them had already realized, "…unless he was the one, unless you switched, without telling me?"

"_What_ is going on here?" Ron cried in frustration.

"He's come to the same conclusion about Sirius' innocence as we have," Harry said watching the two men closely.

"Well that's all fine and dandy, but what does that have to do with Scabbers?"

"That's not a rat," Lupin said quietly. "It's an animagus, by the name of Peter Pettigrew."

"You're mental…Scabbers isn't Pettigrew, he's been in the family for…"

"Twelve years?"

"Come off it," Ron said weakly. "Are you trying to say he broke out of Azkaban just to get his hands on Scabbers? I mean, okay, say Pettigrew could turn into a rat, there are millions of other rats how's he supposed to know which one he's after in Azkaban?"

"You know that's a fair question, Sirius," Lupin said. "How did you know where Peter was?"

Black put one of his claw-like hands into his robes and took out a crumpled piece of paper, which he smoothed flat and held out to show the others. It was the photograph of Ron and his family that had appeared in the _Daily Prophet _the previous summer, and there, on Ron's shoulder, was Scabbers.

"How did you get this?" Lupin asked Black, thunderstruck.

"Fudge," said Black. "When he came to inspect Azkaban last year, he gave me his paper. And there was Peter, on the front page on this boy's shoulder, I knew him at once, how many times had I seen him transform? And the caption said the boy would be going back to Hogwarts, to where Harry was…"

"My God." said Lupin softly, staring from Scabbers to the picture in the paper and back again. "His front paw…"

"What about it?" Ron asked.

"He's got a toe missing." said Black.

"Of course," Lupin breathed. "So simple, so brilliant. He cut it off himself?"

"Just before he transformed. When I cornered him, he yelled for the whole street to hear that I'd betrayed Lily and James. Then, before I could curse him, he blew apart the street with the wand behind his back, killed everyone within twenty feet of himself, and sped down into the sewer with the other rats."

"Didn't you ever hear, Ron?" Lupin said, "The biggest bit of Peter they found was his finger."

Ron looked ready to protest, but Harry stopped him. "Ron, I think they're right."

"Not you too, Harry."

"No listen, what they're saying makes sense, it all fits and besides…I always got a strange feeling about Scabbers, his aura was off, not like a normal rat's."

"You can see auras?" Lupin asked. "That's a very impressive gift, Harry."

The sable haired teen shrugged. "It's more like I can sense them, it's really nothing." His father had told him that, in Asgard, it was a common thing. "Why don't you let them cast an Animagus Reversing spell on Scabbers, if he's nothing but an ordinary rat, it won't hurt him."

"I…" Ron hesitated, then sighed heavily. "All right," reluctantly, he passed the cage to Harry who placed it on the floor before Black and Lupin.

"Together?" Lupin asked.

"Together," Black nodded.

"On three." Harry said. "One…two…three," he unlatched the cage and, immediately, Scabbers leapt free and scurried toward the door. He didn't even make it three feet before identical flashes of blue-white light hit him and suddenly he was growing, a head shot up from the ground, limbs sprouted, and, within seconds a short, squat man with thin, colorless hair, and tiny, watery blue eyes lay in a heap on the ground, panting wildly.

"Well, hello, Peter," Lupin smiled pleasantly, as though rats frequently erupted into old school friends around him. "Long time, no see."

"S-Sirius, R-Remus," Pettigrew stammered as his eyes darted toward the door. "My friends… my old friends."

Lupin gave the man a look of utmost loathing, but when he spoke his voice was still fairly calm. "We've been having a little chat," he said, "about what happened the night Lily and James died. You might have missed the finer points while you were squeaking around in that dreadful cage of yours."

"Remus," gasped Pettigrew, and Harry could see beads of sweat breaking out over his pasty face, "you don't believe him, do you? He tried to kill me, Remus."

"So we've heard. I'd like to clear up one or two little matters with you, Peter, if you'll be so-"

"He's come to try and kill me again!" Pettigrew squeaked suddenly, pointing at Black, Harry noted that he used his middle finger as his index was missing. "He killed Lily and James and now he's going to kill me too. You've got to help me, Remus."

That was about the time Harry lost his patience. Quick as a flash, he darted across the room and used one hand to haul Pettigrew to his feet and the other to draw his dagger. "Hello, Peter," he said softly. "You know who I am, right?"

"Ha-Harry P-P-Potter," Pettigrew's eyes were glued to the weapon in Harry's hand, something that the thirteen year old did not fail to miss.

"Do you like my dagger?" He tapped the end of Pettigrew's nose with it, almost playfully. "It was a gift and quite a useful gift it's been, ask my friends." Absently, he ran the knife along Pettigrew's face, outlining his quivering features, circling it dangerously close to his wide eyes. "Last year I used it to slay a basilisk, very nearly died doing it, but it was worth it. The venom from the king of the serpents was imbibed into this blade, making it a _very_ dangerousweapon. Anything but the most superficial wound from it and you'll die a very slow and very painful death."

Pettigrew's entire body began violently trembling.

"Dumbledore didn't think I could be trusted not to hurt someone with it, and you know what?" Harry leaned forward and spoke into Pettigrew's ear, as if sharing a secret. "He was _right_."

Pettigrew whimpered when the blade pressed into the skin only millimeters from his right eye, just barely drawing blood. "So, unless you want to die slowly, painfully, with your blood boiling in your veins and your heart struggling to pump the poison through your body even as it kills you slowly, you will tell me exactly what part you played in my parents' death."

Pettigrew burst into great heaving sobs. "I had no choice. What could I have done? The Dark Lord… you have no idea… he has weapons you can't imagine. I was scared, so scared, I was never brave like Sirius and Remus and James. I never meant it to happen. He-he was taking over everywhere!" gasped Pettigrew "Wh-what was there to be gained by refusing him?"

"What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who has ever existed?" Black said with a terrible fury in his face. "Only innocent lives, Peter!"

"You don't understand!" whined Pettigrew. "He would have killed me, Sirius!"

"Then you should have died!" roared Black. "Died rather than betray your friends, as we would have done for you!"

"You're lucky we need you, you piece of filth," Harry hissed, "or I'd kill you myself."

"We don't need him!" Black shouted over Pettigrew's profuse thanks.

"We do, Sirius. If you kill him now, you'll never be free. We'll take him up to the castle and deal with him from there."

"Right, good idea," Lupin agreed.

"But not you, Professor."

Lupin arched an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"The moon'll be rising any minute now."

Lupin paled. "What…How did you…No, that doesn't matter right now. You're right, go, I'll meet up with you in the morning,"

Black looked to Lupin in concern. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

"No, that's-"

"A great idea," Harry cut in. "You're more than capable of taking care of him in your animagus form and, besides, I don't think it would be a good idea if a convicted mass murderer just waltzed into Hogwarts."

"I don't want you six taking Peter up to the castle by yourselves," Lupin protested. "He might try something."

Harry didn't hesitate for even a second before slamming the hilt of his dagger into Pettigrew's temple; the man crumpled in a heap, but, just to be safe, he shot a binding spell at the unconscious man. "There, now he won't cause any problems."

Smirking to himself in satisfaction, he looked up from his prisoner to find everyone staring at him with their mouths hanging open. "What?"

"Well," Draco observed lightly. "That's one problem solved."

* * *

"You _what_?" Harry all but snarled.

Dumbledore sighed sadly, and looked down at Harry from his perch at the Head Table. "I am truly sorry, my dear boy, but we were simply unprepared."

"_Unprepared? _We told you everything there was to know about Pettigrew, we _told _you he was an illegal animagus."

It was the morning following the events in the Shrieking Shack, after Harry and his friends had foolishly handed Pettigrew over to Dumbledore.

The previous night, in an asinine show of trust, the six third years had explained all that had happened to them to the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall. They had been sure to tell everything exactly as it had happened, careful not to leave a single detail out, lest it somehow affect Sirius' case. And then, after warning the two adults multiple times about Pettigrew's illegal ability, and in turn, being assured multiple times that they had everything in hand, they turned Pettigrew over to the Headmaster. Apparently that had been a mistake.

While McGonagall had her head stuck in the fireplace, calling the Ministry, and Dumbledore was sitting at his desk enjoying a lemon drop, Pettigrew woke up and, after transforming into a rat, escaped with _ridiculous_ ease.

But as Harry stared at the old headmaster, he had a feeling that it was no accident. For some reason Dumbledore had _let_ Pettigrew escape. It was in the way he looked down at Harry, with that sickeningly sweet grandfatherly expression that Harry knew was nothing but a mask, a mask to hide his true face.

"Yes, you did warn us," Dumbledore nodded "but I'm afraid we had, in the presence of a single unconscious wizard, let our guards down. I will never forgive myself for that."

"You are a fool, Headmaster," Harry hissed.

"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall exclaimed.

"No, Professor," Harry barked, his voice was laced with such cold fury the woman fell silent. Harry turned back to Dumbledore. "You are a fool, Headmaster," he repeated, "but do not make the grave error of mistaking me for one. We both know that Pettigrew's escape was no accident, a wizard of your caliber is not capable of making such a monumental blunder.

"Your actions have finally allowed me to see your true face, Dumbledore, and it is a horrible, disgusting thing." All of the students and teachers assembled in the hall for breakfast watched in silent shock and maybe just a bit of awe as a third year dared to speak to Dumbledore as no one had before. "You are a manipulative bastard no better than the dark lord you were praised for defeating."

Dumbledore's face paled. "I am not the enemy, Mr. Potter," he said softly.

Harry laughed coldly. "Aren't you? While you sat sucking on your lemon drops and basking in your own greatness with your head planted firmly up your ass, an innocent man rotted in Azkaban, and now, because of your manipulations, that same man must hide from the very people he once sought to protect." Harry slowly backed away from the table, a vicious sneer curling his lips. "You said you were sorry, Headmaster, but I am the one who is sorry, sorry for entrusting my godfathers life with an asinine fool like you."

"One hundred points from Slytherin!" McGonagall shouted, her face was flushed with outrage. "And detention with me for the rest of the year! Never have I ever seen such blatant disrespect."

Before Harry could tell McGonagall exactly where she could shove her detention, a hand landed on his shoulder and gently led him from the hall; it was only when he was being seated in someone's office with a cup of tea being presented to him did the red clouding his vision begin to abate and he realized who he was sitting across from.

"Thank you, Professor."

Snape scoffed softly into his own cup of tea. "I must say, Potter, you are not at all what I expected."

Harry arched a single eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"When I first met you, all I could see was James Potter, you had the same dark hair, the same mischievous glint in your eyes and I wanted to hate you. But then as you refused to be cowed by my presence and continued to come to me with not only intelligent, but _profound_ questions, I saw your mother, I saw Lily. But now, looking at you, I realize that you are neither of your parents, you are your own man, Potter, and that man may not turn out like the rest of the idiotic simpletons that pollute this planet."

Harry gaped at the man, unsure how to take the maybe compliment. "Thank you, I think."

Snape sniffed softly and took another sip of tea. "Hurry and be done with your tea and I will escort you back to the common room, I advise you to stay there at least until lunch, give things time to settle down."

After the two had finished their drinks, they walked in a surprisingly comfortable silence to the common room.

Harry gave the password to the wall and then turned back to Snape. "Thank you, Professor," he said softly, "for…everything."

"Don't mention it, Potter, and I mean that, not _ever_." Harry laughed and made to go into the common room, but paused when Snape continued speaking. "And take one hundred points to Slytherin, for truths long overdue, and take another for sheer Gryffindor bravery. Unfortunately, I can do nothing for your detentions."

Harry grinned. "That's all right, Professor, the joke's on McGonagall, we've barely got a week left of term anyway."

The sound of the thirteen year old's joyful laughter followed him all the way back to his office.

* * *

**A/N: I hope you all enjoyed reading Harry tear Dumbledore a new one as I certainly enjoyed writing it. But despite the headmaster's less than favorable actions and Harry's apparent hatred for him, this will **_**not **_**be a Dumbledore bashing story, as a matter of fact they become fairly fond of each other near the end. All of Dumbledore's actions, like **_**why**_** he let Pettigrew escape, will be explained, I don't intend to leave you guys hanging.**


	8. Chapter Eight

Amelia Bones sighed as she read through yet another report Head Auror Scrimgeour felt it was absolutely imperative for her to see. All week he had been sending her accounts of strange disappearances and suspicious deaths; there weren't enough to cause alarm, but Scrimgeour was almost as paranoid as the retired Alastor "Mad Eye" Moody, so anything that he thought of as suspicious was sent to her desk for her immediate reviewal.

A soft knock at her office door and the voice of her secretary calling out to her came as a welcome reprieve from the stacks of paperwork towering ominously over her. "Madam Bones," the young assistant said peeking his head into her office, he looked the slightest bit flustered. "You have a visitor."

"A visitor?" Madam Bones asked. "I don't have any appointments set for today."

"He said he didn't have an appointment, but that it was imperative he spoke with you."

"Did you get a name?"

"Harry Potter."

Madam Bones's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. "Harry Potter?" she muttered. "What would he need from me?"

"Should I send him in?"

Madam Bones eyed the stacks of paperwork on her desk for all of two seconds before nodding, any distraction was more than welcome. "Send him in."

Her assistant bobbed his head, then hurried from her office. He was barely gone a minute before he had returned with who she assumed was Harry Potter.

Most wizards would agree that the boy was a carbon copy of his father, James, only with his mother's eyes, but then again, most wizards saw only what they wanted to see. A more astute person would realize that his resemblance to the Potters was superficial at best. His hair was ink black, perhaps a few shades darker than even James', and his eyes were a bright, green, maybe even greener, than Lily's. But there was something in the sharp contours of his face, the way he held himself, the fluid grace and pure confidence he exhibited when walking into the room that gave her pause.

"Mr. Potter," Madam Bones said, rising to her feet as she held out her hand. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Especially so early in the summer. One would think you'd be enjoying the break, spending your time lazing away the days. "

"I was never one to laze about, I like to keep busy. An idle mind is the devil's playground and whatnot," Potter smiled as he shook her hand, his grip was surprisingly strong. "I apologize for arriving unannounced, I know you're a busy woman, and I would not have dared take up your time if it was not of the utmost importance."

Madam Bones gestured for him to sit in the chair set before her desk. "What is it you would like to speak to me about?"

"I know that you have a niece who is in my year at Hogwarts," the teen said, "so you may have heard about the slight altercation that occurred between the headmaster and I at the end of last term."

Madam Bones nodded. When Susan had sent her a letter babbling excitedly about the confrontation between Potter and Dumbledore, she had been a bit skeptical. Her niece had, to the best of her ability, relayed the conversation word for word, and some of the things Potter had dared to say to Dumbledore was so vicious she had trouble believing the veracity of Susan's tale. However, some credence was lent to her words when several of Madam Bones' acquaintances who too had children in Hogwarts came to her on several different occasions to find out if she'd heard about the savage tongue lashing a third year student had given Dumbledore.

"I did," she said. "I also heard that it earned you the rest of the year in detention and lost Slytherin house one hundred points. Susan was a bit put out when Slytherin still somehow managed to win the house cup."

Potter laughed. "One hundred points was nothing when compared to how many my housemates and I earned over the year. The loss barely put a dent in our collection."

"Would your housemates have been dismayed if it did affect your winning the house cup?"

Potter shook his head. "Most of them wouldn't have been too torn up about it, the majority of them believed that Dumbledore deserved every word."

"Did he?"

"I would like to believe so. Then again I was absolutely furious when I confronted him, so perhaps my anger caused me to be a bit more cavalier with my words than I would have preferred to be."

"What was it that caused your anger?"

Potter leaned back in his seat and casually crossed one leg over the other. "The wrongful imprisonment of my godfather and the subsequent release of the man who was really behind the murder of the twelve muggles."

Madam Bones blinked. "Excuse me? I'm sorry, but I don't think that I understand."

"Peter Pettigrew was the Death Eater, not Sirius Black, it was Pettigrew who killed the muggles before he faked his own death and fled like the coward he is."

"I-I...what? No, Sirius Black was proven guilty of his crimes, he was the Dark Lord's servant, not-not _Peter Pettigrew._"

Any other day, Harry would have prided himself in flustering the unflappable Madam Bones, but this was not the time to entertain such feelings. "Really?" he asked skeptically. "And he admitted to this during his trial, under the effects of Veritaserum?"

"I...yes, of course."

"Do you mind if I see the court transcripts? If only to satisfy my curiosity."

Madam Bones nodded sharply as she stood from behind her desk, marched across the room, and threw open the door, startling her poor secretary out of his wits. "I need you to fetch Sirius Black's court transcripts from the archives immediately," she said brusquely.

Harry heard a soft murmur of assent before Madam Bones returned to the room. "While we wait," she said, "could I interest you in a cup of tea?"

Harry smiled gratefully. "That would be lovely, thank you."

"Troy." There was a soft _pop_ and a small, fairly well groomed house elf appeared in the center of the room.

"What can Troy do for, Mistress?" the little elf asked, bowing deeply at Madam Bones.

"Would you prepare two cups of tea for us? You know how I like mine and Mr. Potter will have..." she looked to Harry expectantly.

"Two teaspoons of honey and a dash of cream."

"As mistress wishes," Troy said, bowing lowly, before popping away. Not even a minute later, two steaming cups of tea were served to Madam Bones and Harry along with a plate of biscuits.

Harry had polished off the majority of his cup of tea and was going for his third biscuit when the secretary returned, empty handed and horror struck. Just as Harry had hoped he would be.

"Well?" Madam Bones said sharply. "Where are the transcripts?"

"T-there were none, Madam," he said. "I searched the archives but I couldn't find them anywhere. So I asked one of the archivist, and when _he _couldn't find them, he looked at every time the Wizengamot had convened in October, November, _and _December and we found out that...that Sirius Black never appeared before the Wizengamot. He was sent to Azkaban without a trial."

"You must be joking."

"I'm not, Madam."

Madam Bones whipped her head around to look back at Harry, who had been calmly sipping at what remained of his tea as everything worked out exactly how had wanted it to. "You knew didn't you?" she said. "You knew that Black had never received a trial and that was why you sent for his court transcripts."

"I did," Harry said unrepentantly.

"But _how_?"

Harry shrugged "It wasn't exactly hidden was it? The only reason the issue was never brought up was because everyone was convinced that Sirius was guilty. Why try a man we all already know is guilty of all crimes?"

"That is a gross miscarriage of justice!" Madam Bones said furiously. "If what you said is true, then an innocent man resided in Azkaban for _twelve years_."

"Trust me, it's true."

"But how can you prove it? Yes, Black never having been tried before the Wizengamot is suspicious, but that doesn't prove his innocence. We'll need to track him down and convince him to come to the Ministry so that he can receive a proper trial."

Harry snorted. "That's going to take a hell of a lot of convincing. And it's not just him you have to convince, you've got to convince the Minister _and _the Wizengamot as well, Dumbledore included."

"Dumbledore shouldn't be a problem."

"Au contraire, he's the _biggest _problem."

"But why..." A look of understanding dawned on Madam Bones' face. "He knew?"

"Not only did he know about Sirius' innocence and Peter's subsequent guilt, but he had the little rat in his custody and he let him go."

"He _let him go_?"

"Why do you think we fought at the end of last term? My friends and I...uh _stumbled _upon Sirius Black last year. We had suspected that he was innocent for most of the year, but it was only when we got to talk to him that our theory was confirmed. Pettigrew was an illegal animagus, an illegal _rat _animagus, which really should have been my parents' first clue that he was a lying, no good coward who didn't deserve to know their locker combination let alone the secret of their location."

"Locker combination?"

"It doesn't matter," Harry said, waving a hand negligently. "What does matter is that after Pettigrew betrayed my parents, Sirius hunted him down to a little muggle town where, to his shock, the smarmy little bastard got the slip on him. Pettigrew screamed for the whole street to hear that Sirius had been the one to betray my parents, then he blew up the street, cut off his finger, and transformed into his rat form, in which he proceeded to scurry down into the sewer and away from the crime scene. For the next twelve years he spent his days as, first Percy Weasley, and then Ron Weasley, one of my best friends', pet rat."

"He spent twelve years as a _rat_?"

Harry laughed derisively. "It was the form he was most comfortable in."

"And Black told you all of this? Was there any proof?"

"Of course there was! Pettigrew was my best friend's pet rat. All we had to do was cast an animagus reversing spell on him and the truth was revealed; Scabbers was Pettigrew," Harry sighed. "We were thrilled when we found out the truth, but then I, in my youthful naivety, agreed to hand Pettigrew over to Dumbledore so that he could be turned into the authorities. The next morning I learned that just as McGonagall was about to summon the aurors, Pettigrew escaped his binds and made a hasty escape. The revelation that the traitor had gotten away and that my godfather would not be a free man, made me lose control of my temper, which led to my little little...tirade."

Madam Bones sighed and ran a hand wearily over her face. "If we are to resolve this issue we need to get Sirius Black to the Ministry, but first we need to persuade the Minister and the Wizengamot to allow the trial."

"Once we know that the Ministry won't arrest him on sight, convincing Mr. Black to show up shouldn't be all that hard."

"But we don't know that Ministry won't arrest him on sight."

"Oh, that can be easily rectified. As a matter of fact, once I'm done presenting my argument the trial will be merely a formality. Sirius will be freed by the end of the month."

"What do you have planned, Mr. Potter?"

Harry smiled broadly. "Would you happen to have a pensieve I could borrow?"

* * *

"Good morning, Sirius!"

The escaped convict glared at his entirely too cheerful best friend as he shuffled into the kitchen and collapsed at the somewhat clean table.

After Dumbledore's possible betrayal, Sirius had stuck around at the Shrieking Shack long enough for Remus to hand in his letter of resignation and pack his belongings, before both men made their way to the one place Sirius had swore never to go back to. His childhood home, Grimmauld Place.

It was a horrible place, dark and filthy with loud, rude, and nosy portraits taking up most of the wall space, and infested with vermin and mad house elves. But with the extensive wards on the house, not all of them light, it was perhaps the safest place for Sirius to be.

"This should wake you up," Remus said, placing a mug full of steaming coffee on the table in front of Sirius.

"You are my hero, Moony," Sirius exclaimed, gulping down half the cup of scalding liquid in one go. "Just how I like it," he sighed, "black as my soul."

Behind him, Remus rolled his eyes mouthed the words right along with him. The amount of times Sirius said the phrase when presented with a cup of coffee was ridiculous.

"We got something from Harry. Two letters, one for each of us." Remus held up his already opened letter. "Mine didn't say much, but Harry seemed pretty excited and told me to be with you when you opened yours."

Sirius snatched up the letter Remus slid across the table and eagerly tore it open. His eyes darted across the paper greedily reading every word written in his godson's neat scrawl.

Remus watched as, the further into the letter Sirius got, the more astounded he looked and the brighter his eyes got with what he could only assume to be unshed tears. "Sirius?" he asked worriedly. "Has something happened?"

"I...Harry-he..."

"He what, Sirius?" Remus hurried around the table to stand beside his friend. "Is Harry all right?"

"He-he went to the Ministry and gave them his memories of what happened the night we captured Peter," Sirius whispered. "He managed to persuade the Wizengamot to give me the trial I was denied thirteen years ago."

Abandoning all tact, Remus snatched the letter from Sirius hand and quickly read it over. It was exactly as Sirius had said. Harry had gone to Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a woman renowned for being unwaveringly fair, and brought to her attention the fact that Sirius had never received a trial. After that, he requested a pensieve and displayed the memory that as good as proved Sirius' innocence first to her, then to the Wizengamot, who, according to Harry, were now falling over themselves to right the wrong done to him.

"Do you...do you think it's true?" Sirius whispered. "Is that really from Harry? Do I really have the chance to be free?"

"It has to be. Harry wouldn't joke about something like this."

"But what if it isn't from Harry? What if I go to the Ministry expecting to attend the trial that could make me a free man, only to have a dozen aurors waiting to capture me and cart my sorry arse back to Azkaban?"

Remus hesitated, unsure what to say because what if it was true? What if it was all a clever hoax to apprehend Sirius?

"Kreacher has the morning paper for blood traitor master."

Sirius jumped in his seat and swore at the elf's sudden appearance. "Stop popping up without warning me," he snapped. "You're going to make my heart leap right out of my chest if you keep with that."

"Kreacher could only be so lucky."

Sirius glared at the house elf, but Kreacher simply glared back as he threw the newspaper on the table before popping out of the room.

"That things a menace," Sirius grumbled. "I should just chop his head off and be done with him already."

"We have more important things to deal with than a crazy old house elves at the moment," Remus said, reaching for the newspaper. "Like finding out if that letter is real, for-_oh_!"

Sirius straightened to full attention in his seat. "Oh? What oh? Why are you saying oh?"

A wide eyes Remus turned the Daily Prophet around so that the front page was facing Sirius. In enormous bold, black words was a single statement that caused the ex-convicts heart to skip a beat.

_**Sirius Black Innocent?**_

_Recently acquired evidence has brought one of the most infamous cases of the wizarding world under the scrutinization of several high ranking law enforcement officials and even the Wizengamot themselves. _

_Thirteen years ago, only hours after the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Sirius Black was imprisoned in Azkaban for the murder of twelve muggles and one wizard, but July of last year Black became the first ever wizard to escape Azkaban. Many believed that he had broken out with the intention of killing the wizard who had defeated his master when he was still just a baby, Harry Potter. _

_But what if there was more to the tale than what we were led to believe? What if Sirius Black broke out of Azkaban, not to avenge his master, but to prove his innocence? _

Sirius exhaled heavily and leaned back heavily in his chair, too overwhelmed to continue reading the article. "This is really happening," he said.

Remus laughed somewhat hysterically and nodded his head. "It is. You should write to Harry, find out when your trial is."

Sirius suddenly leapt from his seat and snatched Remus from his seat. "This is really happening!" he said again, this time much more exuberantly, dragging the somewhat unwilling werewolf around the room in a celebratory dance. "I'm going to be free!"

* * *

Three days after receiving the news, Sirius appeared before the Wizengamot to receive the trial he was denied thirteen years ago. He was questioned under the effects of Veritaserum, and it was there, before the entire panel of jurists, dozens of witnesses, several reporters, and, most important of all, his godson, that he proved, beyond all reasonable doubt, that he was innocent.

The uproar the verdict caused was massive. How had the Ministry allowed an innocent man to rot in Azkaban for twelve years? How many more wrongfully imprisoned inmates were slowly losing their minds, if they weren't lost already, in Azkaban?

Immediately after being declared innocent, Sirius was escorted to St. Mungo's where he received a physical checkup and a full psychological examination. It was revealed that he was severely underweight and malnourished, though he was already recovering thanks to Remus stuffing him full every meal for the past few weeks. He was slightly anemic, his immune system was at an all-time low as a result of the malnutrition, and he had slight nerve damage, especially in his fingers and toes, due to the cold winters in Azkaban. The physical damage could easily be healed as long as Sirius stuck to a strict potion regiment, the psychological damage, however, was a different matter altogether. His wrongful imprisonment had led to paranoia and a deep distrust of all forms of authority, which explained his somewhat childish, and reckless behavior. The mind healer assigned to Sirius had been unable to find much else wrong with him psychologically, but until it was proved that he was healthy both physically and mentally, Sirius would not be able to gain custody of Harry.

He'd been incredibly disappointed by this piece of news, but Harry easily changed that by receiving permission from the Dursleys to spend the rest of the summer with Sirius and Remus at Grimmauld Place. The first few days had been spent trying and failing to put the house in some semblance of order, they had managed to properly clean out a bedroom for Harry and had even painted it in carefully neutral colors (Sirius had first tried to paint the room a garish red and gold in an attempt to sway his Slytherin godson to the "Gryffindor side", but after Harry had threatened to redecorate the entire house in Slytherin green and silver they settled on soft creams and light blues). But after that the three wizards lost all desire to clean and so spent the rest of the summer exploring muggle London, drawing all over the portrait of Sirius's vile, filthy mouthed mother, and generally getting into all sorts of mischief.

By the time September first rolled around, all three were reluctant to see Harry off to Hogwarts, those few months easily remained the best summer vacation any of them had ever had.

* * *

"Weasley, what in Merlin's name is _that_?" Ron dove for the ground, but Draco was faster. Before Ron could shove them back out of sight, Draco scooped up a pile of fabric that had fallen from his redheaded friend's trunk and darted to the other side of the compartment so that he could examine his prize undisturbed.

"Merlin, these are atrocious."

Though it was hard to tell at first glance, the pile of fabric Draco had snatched up were a pair of dress robes, and they truly _were _atrocious. They looked more like a long, maroon velvet dress with moldy-looking lace frills at the collar and matching lace cuffs than dress robes.

"Don't remind me," Ron groaned, sinking back into his seat. "Why do we even _need _dress robes? We haven't needed them any other year."

"There will probably be some sort of ball this year," Draco said, patting Ron sympathetically on the shoulder after tucking the robes back into his trunk. "It's supposed to be a surprise, but you all know my father, the man can't keep his mouth shut for anything, he told me the moment he found out. The Triwizard Tournament is being held at Hogwarts this year."

"Really?" Hermione exclaimed. "But there hasn't been a Triwizard Tournament in over a century."

"Because the death toll had been too high," Harry nodded.

"Death toll?" Neville repeated worriedly. "Why would anyone participate in a competition with a high death toll?"  
"Because the winner of the tournament wins eternal glory and a thousand galleons."

"What I could do with a thousand galleons." Ron sighed wistfully.

"You could start by buying yourself a better pair of dress robes."

"Oh stuff it, Malfoy."

* * *

The Sorting ceremony, like every year, was a quick and efficient affair, each house had gained a respectable amount of first years to add to their numbers. Harry was amused to see that Gryffindor had gained yet another excitable Creevey brother; it was only because of their differing house that Harry wasn't constantly stalked by third year, Colin Creevey, and for that he was incredibly grateful.

After the sorting, Dumbledore stood to proclaim an odd collection of words that Harry suspected was the cue to the house elves to send up the food, and the feast began. Most conversation was put on hold as students and teachers alike began systematically devouring the hearty Hogwarts fare. It was only after the desserts had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, did conversations begin picking up, only to once again die off as Dumbledore rose to his feet. The headmaster cheerfully went over the usual school rules and informed the students that Filch had, once again, updated his list of banned items and that said list could be found outside of the caretaker's office.

"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy. However, I am sure that you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts-"

Dumbledore's words were cut off when the doors of the Great Hall were thrown open with enormous force, and banged loudly against the stone wall. Everyone turned their attention to the entrance, where a thick, somewhat squat man leaning upon a long staff, and shrouded in a black traveling cloak appeared. The strange man lowered his hood and shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, revealing his somewhat disfigured face and missing eye. In its place was an electric blue prosthetic, that, without blinking, was rolling up, down, side to side, and even rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head, so that all that could be seen was whiteness.

The man limped down the aisle between the house tables, his carved wooden leg made a dull clunk against the stone floor with every other step. It was a while before he reached the staff table, where he was greeted with a warm handshake and a softly spoken inquiry from Dumbledore, before he settled down in a seat at the end of the table and began eating from a platter of leftover sausages, indifferent to the attention focused on him.

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Dumbledore said brightly. "Professor Moody."

No one but Dumbledore and Hagrid applauded for the newly appointed Defense professor, but Moody didn't seem at all concerned by the less than warm welcome.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and smiled at the students before him, most of whom were still watching Moody warily. "As I was saying," he said, "we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

Surprised exclamations echoed throughout the hall, but Dumbledore easily silenced them with another simple clearing of his throat. Once silence once again reigned, he explained the details of the Triwizard Tournament to all of those who were unfamiliar with it.

"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."

All along the hall, students began whispering eagerly to each other, excited by the prospect of winning such an exorbitant amount of money.

"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," Dumbledore continued over the excited whispers, "the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age, that is to say, seventeen years or older, will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This," Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, "is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion. I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.

"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!"

* * *

The months leading up to the arrival of the representatives for the foreign schools weren't much different than any other normal school term; the students attended classes, complained about certain professors outside of their classrooms, and spent most of their free time bemoaning the amount of homework they'd been saddled with instead of actually doing said homework. There was a bit of excitement, not all of it good, when Moody was given permission to demonstrate the Unforgivable curses to his classes, but other than that, things remained normal, some would even say boring.

Things, however, picked up after the delegations for both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrived; the Beauxbatons students and their headmistress in a large flying carriage drawn by a dozen winged horses the size of elephants, and the Durmstrang delegation in an impressive although slightly skeletal looking ship that rose straight from the depths of the Black Lake.

Ron discovered that some famous Quidditch star by the name of Viktor Krum was among the Durmstrang students, prompting such avid fanboyish tendencies that eventually even mild tempered Neville told him to stuff it, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan attempted to cross Dumbledore's age line and ended up with beards almost as long as the Headmaster's, and, what was more, Hagrid had apparently fallen hard for the Beauxbatons' headmistress, Madame Maxime. But nothing could compare to the events on Halloween night, a night that Harry was beginning to believe was cursed.

The fantastic Halloween feast had just ended and Dumbledore stood from his seat and smiled down at the students. "Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," he said, "I estimate that it requires a few more minutes until it's ready.

"Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go into the next chamber," he indicated the door behind the staff table "where they will be receiving their first instructions."

He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it, at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness.

Silence reigned for several long, tense minutes as everyone waited, then finally the flames inside of the goblet turned a sudden blood red and spat out a slip of slightly burnt parchment. Dumbledore caught the parchment with ease and held it at arm's length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames.

"The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."

With the sound of applause filling the hall, Krum rose from his place several seats down from Harry at the Slytherin table and slouched across the hall and through the door into the next chamber.

It took several long minutes, but the clapping and cheering finally died down and everyone's attention returned to the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," Dumbledore said, "is Fleur Delacour!"

Again, for several minutes, there was thunderous applause, and then. "The Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory!"

This time the uproar was tremendous, every Hufflepuff had climbed to their feet screaming and shouting their shared victory.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily over the furor. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real-"

But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him. The fire had turned red again and a long flame shot suddenly into the air, borne upon it was another piece of parchment.

Automatically, Dumbledore reached out and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, and then. "Harry Potter."

There was no tumultuous applause this time, nor ear shattering cheers and deafening roars, only silence, deafening mind-numbing silence. "Harry Potter, please step forward and make your way to the antechamber."

"Uh, yeah no. I don't think I will," he said.

"Mr. Potter, your name has come from the goblet, you must."

"Did you not set up several wards to prevent this _exact _thing from happening?" the Slytherin sighed. "First my parents' home, then Flamel's stone, and now _this_? I must say, Headmaster, if you ever grow bored of ruling the school and decide to look into other career options, I wouldn't recommend anything that involves erecting wards, or just guarding things in general. You obviously lack the skills it takes to do such a job."

"_Mr. Potter!_"

"I know, I know," Harry cut off the Deputy Headmistress' infuriated lecture before it could even begin. "So and so points from Slytherin and an eternity in detention. Now, if you'll excuse me Professor, I must go and waste the rest of my night, and perhaps several months following tonight, futilely declaring my innocence to a group of people who would sooner sell their own souls than believe that I want nothing more than a peaceful life."

And with that, he dipped into a mocking bow, crossed the Great Hall, and ducked into the antechamber where the three champions were arranged in various positions around the lit fire.

Fleur Delacour was the first to notice his entrance. "What is it?" she asked. "Do zey want us back in ze Hall?"

Harry barely spared the girl a glance as he pulled out his wand, gave it a careless flick, and wordlessly conjured a comfortable cushioned chair, after a moment's pause, he conjured chairs for the other teenagers then settled into his own with a sigh of contentment.

"Apparently," he said after the three champions had settled down in their respective chairs, "the Headmaster has made yet another mistake, _surprise surprise_, so now, instead of one, Hogwarts has _two _champions."

At that moment, Ludo Bagman burst into the room, an excited expression on his round face "Extraordinary! Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen… lady." he added, approaching the fireside and addressing the other three. "May I introduce, incredible though it may seem, the fourth Triwizard champion."

"Yes, they've been informed, Mr. Bagman,"

"But 'e is too young."

Harry figured he should feel offended by the girls' words, but all he found himself feeling was a mild irritation (leftover from his exchange with Dumbledore, no doubt) and impressed that the first thing Fleur commented on was, not that Hogwarts had two champions or even that he'd been entered illegally, but that he was too young. Points to the Frenchwoman.

"Well, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as his name's come out of the goblet… I mean, I don't think there can be any ducking out at this stage… It's down in the rules, you're obliged… Harry will just have to do the best he-"

Bagman was cut off when, again, the door opened and the headmasters (and mistress) of the three schools, Professors McGonagall and Snape, and Bartemius Crouch entered the room.

"Madame Maxime!" Fleur exclaimed, striding over to her Headmistress' side. "Zey are saying zat ze boy is to compete also!"

"What is the meaning of zis, Dumbly-dor?" the large woman all but growled.

"I'd rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore," Professor Karkaroff agreed. "Two Hogwarts champions? I don't remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions-or have I not read the rules carefully enough?"

"C'est impossible. 'Ogwarts cannot 'ave two champions. It is most unjust."

"We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore," said Karkaroff, his eyes were colder than ever. "Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools."

"But, as we all have seen, the great Albus Dumbledore is not as infallible as we would all like to believe," Harry said, smiling innocently at his headmaster.

"Alas, that is true," Dumbledore sighed. "So, with that in mind, I must ask, did you get past my protections and put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?"

Harry couldn't help but scoff in derision. "Yes, because I, Harry Potter, the bloody Boy-Who-Lived and sole heir to the Potter family wanted the _fame _and the _riches _that will be showered upon me if I win the tournament."

"Mr. Crouch, Mr. Bagman," Karkaroff said, "you are our objective judges. Surely you will agree that whether the boy speaks the truth or not this is most irregular?"

"We must follow the rules," Crouch said curtly, "and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament."

"Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front," said Bagman, beaming and turning back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, as though the matter was now closed.

"I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students," demanded Karkaroff. "You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has two champions. It's only fair, Dumbledore."

"But Karkaroff, it doesn't work like that," Bagman said. "The Goblet of Fire's just gone out, it won't reignite until the start of the next tournament-"

"- in which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!" exploded Karkaroff. "After all of our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!"

"Empty threat, Karkaroff," growled a voice from near the door, Moody hobbled into the room. "You can't leave your champion now. He's got to compete. They've all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?"

"Convenient? I'm afraid I don't understand you, Moody."

"Don't you?" said Moody quietly. "It's very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put Potter's name in that goblet knowing he'd have to compete if it came out."

"Evidently, someone 'oo wished to give 'Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!" Madame Maxime exclaimed.

"I quite agree, Madame Maxime," Karkaroff nodded, "I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards-"

"If anyone's got reason to complain, it's Potter," growled Moody, "but, funny thing, I don't hear him saying a word."

"Oh trust me, I was saying some words," Harry piped in. "Protesting the whole thing, pronouncing my innocence, declaring Dumbledore's overall useless-"

"If you say another word that does not show the proper respect to the headmaster of your school, Potter," McGonagall finally exploded, "so help me Merlin I will-"

"What, take points from Slytherin?" Harry scoffed derisively "Put me in detention?"

"See that you are expelled."

Harry couldn't help but grin at the woman's threat. "Oh, by all means go right ahead. After everything I've gone through in this damned school it'd be a blessing indeed. Madame Maxime, is your school worth looking into? I've heard it's a top notch institution, but I can't base my decision off of word of mouth. I once heard that Hogwarts was the finest school in England, but to be honest I feel the overall quality of the school is not as grand as boasted and…" he leaned toward the large woman conspiratorially "well, I find the staff to be somewhat lacking."

Madame Maxime looked bewildered at the turn of events, but she didn't give up the opportunity to boast about her school and gain a potential student. "It eez just as fine as is rumored. Ze courses will help you reach your full potential and I'm sure you would find ze staff to your liking."

"And ze grounds are beautiful in ze wintertime," Fleur added.

"Enough," Dumbledore said firmly. "You are not being expelled, Mr. Potter, I will simply overlook your disrespect as stress from tonight's events." Harry snorted obnoxiously. "Now, I think we can all agree that there is nothing we can do about Mr. Potter being in the tournament, he is locked into a magically binding contract and thus cannot step out without losing his magic. But if anyone has an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it."

No one did.

"Well, now that that's settled, I do believe we need to give our champions their instructions, haven't we? Barty, would you do the honors?"

Mr. Crouch seemed to have to snap himself out of a deep reverie. "Yes," he said, "instructions. Yes… the first task…"

* * *

"They're making you compete?"

"Yup," Harry shoveled a spoonful of scrambled eggs onto his plate. "If I don't I'll lose my magic."

"Magically binding contract," Blaise nodded sagely.

"But you didn't enter into the competition. You didn't right?"

"_No_, Hermione."

"Just checking. But you didn't enter the competition yourself, so how does the contract apply to you?"

"Apparently entering my name into the cup, whether I'm the one who did it or not, was enough."

Hermione scowled. "That's hardly fair, this competition is much too dangerous for a fourth year."

Harry laughed lightly. "Doubting my skills Hermione?"

"No…but, I'm just worried."

"Don't be," Harry threw an arm over his friend's shoulder, "I'm perfectly capable of handling this."

"How?" Draco asked. "You don't even know what the first task will be,"

"I'm in Slytherin for a reason, Draco. I'll find out."

* * *

"Dragons," Harry stated proudly, several weeks after that fateful Halloween night. "The first task is dragons."

"Dragons?" Neville repeated. "What do you have to do? Kill one?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think that would go over well with certain groups, we probably have to subdue one or get past them."

"How did you find out?" Ron asked.

"Hagrid showed me, took me out to the Forbidden Forest and we caught a glimpse of them being put in cages. I'm pretty sure I saw Charlie helping out."

"Now you're one step ahead of the competition, Potter," Draco nodded approvingly.

"Well…"

"Well what?"

"Well, Madame Maxime was there, I think Hagrid was taking her on a date, and on my way back I saw Karkaroff skulking around, you can bet they'll tell their champions so technically I'm not ahead, Cedric was actually the only one who didn't know."

"Well, that's one less competitor to worry about at least."

Harry bit his lip and looked away.

Draco's eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. "What did you do, Potter?"

"I kind of maybe sorta told him."

"_Why?_"

Harry shrugged. "My skewed morals, besides, just in case I don't win, I at least want it to be a Hogwarts victory."

"You're _impossible_, Potter."

* * *

"So, I've been looking into things that can help you defeat or subdue a dragon for a bit," Hermione informed her friend. "But, I've not found much. Their eyes are especially sensitive so that gives you several ways to at least distract it, and there are rumors that their bellies are vulnerable, but that's not been proven."

"That's not giving us much to work with."

"I know," Hermione sighed, "but it's a start."

"You're right of course," Harry said. "I just wish we had something more to work with."

"Don't worry, we'll find something, we just need to think things through. So let's think, what's the most formidable thing about a dragon?"

"Um, their teeth?"

"No, Harry."

"Their claws?"

"No."

"Those big scaly feet? Merlin, I would hate to be ste-"

"Their _fire_, you nitwit, fire."

"Right," Harry grinned sheepishly. "I knew that."

"Of course you did. Anyway, the first thing we should do is find a way to neutralize the threat."

"Or…" Harry said slowly, brain running a thousand miles a minute "Or use the dragon's greatest weapon against it."

* * *

It took Harry weeks to plan every little detail of his strategy to perfection and it took even longer to research, practice, and perfect the spells needed, but when the day of the first task finally arrived, he was ridiculously prepared to compete. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for a certain one of his friends.

"Are you sure you have everything down?" Hermione fretted. "That you can perform all of your spells perfectly? If not we can go down to the lake and practice a bit more, it's not too late. The task won't start until after lunch, that's not for another…" The bushy haired witch looked down at her watch. "Oh no, there's only ten minutes left! What are we to do? Oh Merlin, I'm not ready!"

"Hermione!" Harry grabbed his panicking friend's shoulders and forced her to turn and look at him. "Calm down, I'm ready for whatever I'm about to face, as should you."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Harry," she nervously twisted a napkin around her fingers. "It's just, I'm _so _worried, what if something goes wrong?"

"It won't, I had the brightest witch of our age helping me through this all, I have the fullest confidence in our plan so, please, calm down."

Hermione heaved a heavy sigh and then nodded. "All right, I'm sorry, Harry, it's just this competition is getting to me."

"One would think you were the one competing from the way you're carrying on, Granger."

"Hush Draco," Hermione said, but a soft smile was tugging at her lips.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry turned in his seat and looked up at his head of house. "Yes, Professor Snape?"

"It's time for you to prepare for the first task, follow me if you please."

"Yes, sir," Harry stood from his seat, bid his friends goodbye and followed Snape out onto the grounds.

"Are you prepared for the task, Potter?"

Harry glanced up at Snape, a small smirk curled his lips. "Why Professor Snape, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were worried about me."

"Hardly," the potion's master scoffed, "I simply don't wish to have the student who secured the house cup for Slytherin four years running die in an idiotic blaze of _'glory.'_"

Harry laughed "Considering the amount of house points McGonagall has taken because of me, that shining reputation won't carry through this year. But yes, I do have a plan, and it is _glorious_."

Snape arched a brow incredulously. "I'm holding you to that, Potter."

* * *

"Harry! Good!" Bagman exclaimed happily when Harry entered the large tent standing before the dragon enclosure. "Come in, come in, make yourself at home!" Harry warily joined the three other champions in the tent. "Well, now that we're all here time to fill you in!

"When the audience has assembled, I'm going to be offering each of you this bag," Bagman held up a small sack of purple silk and shook it at them, "from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else too… ah, yes… your task is to collect the golden egg!"

Harry nodded once, he'd suspected that they'd have to subdue the dragon or find a way to get past it, but this wasn't too bad, as long as the egg wasn't located somewhere ridiculous, like around the dragon's neck or something, knowing the specifics of the task didn't change his overall plan.

In no time at all, the stands outside of the tent were filled with hundreds of chattering students and it was time for the task to begin.

Bagman opened the neck of the purple bag and held it out to Fleur. "Ladies first."

The blonde reached a shaking hand into the bag and pulled out a miniature model of a Welsh Green dragon with a number two around its neck. Krum chose next and pulled a Chinese Fireball with a three, then Cedric pulled a Swedish Short-Snout labeled with a one. And then finally it was Harry's turn, he calmly reached into the bag and drew a Hungarian Horntail with the number four strung around its tiny neck.

"Well, there you are!" Bagman said "You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see? Now, I'm going to have to leave you in a moment, because I'm commentating. Mr. Diggory, you're first, just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, all right? Now… Harry… could I have a quick word? Outside?"

Bagman pulled Harry aside and tried to offer him help with the task, but Harry refused his offer and quickly returned to the tent to relax until his turn.

Cedric, as per the number around his mini-dragon's neck, went first and, from what Harry could tell from the crowd's shouts and Bagman's comments, attempted to pull off several dangerous maneuvers that eventually led to a victorious, if not somewhat crispy, success.

Next went Fleur who tried to charm her dragon into submission, and then Krum who seemed to have the easiest time retrieving his egg with the conjunctivitis curse, although he accidentally squashed several of the dragon's eggs in the process.

After the applause following Krum's success had died down, a whistle pierced the air and Harry exited the tent on somewhat shaky legs.

The enclosure was an enormous, ovular space dotted liberally with rocks and surrounded on all sides by bleachers where hundreds of students sat looking down at him. On the far side of the arena sat his target, a shining golden egg surrounded by a clutch of cement colored eggs and guarded by a monstrous, scaly black dragon glaring at him with glowing yellow eyes.

Harry kicked the ground and noted that the enclosure floor had been covered in sand. Perfect, that meant less work for him.

Slowly, he approached the dragon, wand in hand and a determined glint in his eye, when he was a good hundred yards away, he stopped and pointed his wand at the dragon. "_Irritus Crey._"

Immediately, a dozen small, vaguely humanoid creatures, that stood no higher than his knees, erupted from the ground and ran at the dragon with high pitched cries of war. Some managed to climb upon the dragon and begin pulling irritatingly at its scales, but most didn't even make it fifty yards before the already angry dragon began spitting fire at the little creatures. They melted into puddles of insubstantial slime upon contact, but Harry wasn't worried about them.

"_Cendia Trell_." The fire gushing from the dragon's maw surged backwards and, at his command, raged around the Horntail in an enormous fiery maelstrom, a quick twirl of his wand accelerated the wind to insane speeds, whipping the sand covering the ground into the inferno surrounding the dragon, and then he used one last spell. "_Glassus_."

A pure beam of silver light leapt from his wand and into the fire, it lit the entire arena for several long seconds before, with a blinding flash, it disappeared. Harry, the audience, and the judges watched as slowly the wind died down and the fire puttered out, leaving in their wake, an enormous dragon encased in a thick layer of sparkling glass.

There was dead silence as everyone watched and waited. Nothing happened, the glass held firm and the dragon remained trapped, and that was all it took for applause so loud it almost knocked him over erupted from the audience. Harry calmly passed the dragon and collected his egg.

"Look at that," Bagman practically screamed. "Look at that, our youngest champion just pulled off the greatest feat the Triwizard has ever seen. Bravo, Mr. Potter! Bravo!"

Harry walked calmly back to the tent, egg clutched firmly under his arm and with the screams and cheers of hundreds of students following behind him.

"It seems you, for once, were correct, Potter," Harry was gratified to see Snape's eyes were wide with shock. "You _did_ have a plan."

"And was it, in your humbling opinion, _glorious_?"

Snape's eyes flickered to where the dragon handlers had rushed out to attempt to free the dragon without injuring it, so far they were unsuccessful. "Perhaps."

It took almost a quarter of an hour to free the dragon, and another ten minutes to subdue the infuriated creature and move it from the enclosure so Harry could receive his score.

Madam Maxime, Crouch, Bagman and, to his everlasting surprise, Karkaroff, gave him perfect tens, but Dumbledore, the crotchety bastard that he was, gave him an eight. But he hardly let that bring him down, he was in the lead, but more importantly, he was still alive.

* * *

"You did it! Oh Merlin, you did it!" Hermione launched herself at Harry and wrapped him in a rib-cracking hug. "Oh, Harry I'm so proud, I knew you could do it!"

"Yes, your confidence in him was quite evident this morning at breakfast," Neville teased, then reached out to clap Harry on the back. "Great job, mate."

"You did remarkably well, Potter," Draco praised him.

"Remarkable enough for you to start calling me by my first name?"

"As if."

Harry childishly stuck his tongue out at his blonde friend. "It was nothing much," he told his friends as they continued to congratulate him. "I only did what we practiced."

"Yeah, but doing it in practice is a lot different than doing it when faced with a two ton, fire breathing dragon," Blaise refuted.

"Okay, it was awesome," Harry conceded and plopped down under a tree beside the lake. "Now, do you want to hear what the clue for the next task is or do you want to spend the rest of the day waxing poetics about how epic I am?"

"Let's hear it then," Draco said, settling down beside him.

Harry pulled the golden egg he'd won from the dragon out of his pack and pried it open. The moment the hinges unfastened, a loud, screeching wailing, reminiscent of Aunt Petunia in the morning, tore through the air.

"Close it!" Ron cried, slapping his hands over his ears.

Harry slammed the lid shut and looked to his friends in bewilderment. "Well, there it is."

"What was that?" Neville asked rubbing at his ears.

"The clue."

"Well we could have told you that." Draco snapped. "Why did it sound like Mrs. Norris when someone steps on her tail?"

Harry shrugged. "This is my first time opening it, so your guess is as good as mine," he said.

"It sounded like some type of animal," Neville said, "maybe a magical creature."

"A banshee, perhaps?" Hermione suggested. "That might have to be the next thing you have to get past."

Harry shook his head. "That seems a bit redundant. I don't think anyone would want to watch us fighting magical creatures two tasks in a row."

"It sounded like Mermish to me," Blaise said. "That or my mother in the shower."

"I thought mermaids were supposed to be ethereal creatures that could lure sailors to their watery deaths with nothing but the sound of their voices," Harry looked at the egg with strong disdain "Not _that_."

"Not all of them are all that beautiful," Ron explained. "Especially the ones here in Scotland."

"Well, we all know what this means," Harry said.

The others nodded solemnly. "To the library," they chorused.

* * *

_Come seek us where our voices sound,_

_We cannot sing above the ground,_

_And while you're searching, ponder this:_

_We_'_ve taken what you_'_ll sorely miss,_

_An hour long you_'_ll have to look,_

_And to recover what we took,_

_But past an hour, the prospect's black_

_Too late, it_'_s gone, it won_'_t come back._

"Well," Ron deadpanned, "that was morbid."

"Incredibly so," Blaise agreed. "But helpful."

"Very," Harry nodded. "So it's as we thought, we're dealing with merpeople, as the first two lines tell us, and from what I can tell from the rest of the poem, if I don't find whatever it is that was stolen within an hour, it will remain gone forever."

"Where do you think whatever you sorely miss will be hidden?" Neville asked.

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "The lake no doubt."

"The _lake_?" Ron repeated. "Why do you figure that?"

"There are merpeople in the lake, says so in Hogwarts: A History, I'd bet anything they'll be the ones who are guarding the stolen item."

"So does that mean you have to go _into _the lake?" Hermione asked.

"Probably, so we should start looking up ways how to breathe and navigate underwater. Oh and I want to learn to speak at least a few phrases in Mermish."

"Why would you want to do that?" Draco voiced incredulously.

"Just in case I run into trouble in the lake, I'd like to communicate and understand the basic stuff, you know '_I come in peace'_ and all that rot."

* * *

Ideas on how to conquer the second task didn't come near as easy as they did for the first, the whole group was researching but they were all drawing blanks on how to breathe under water for prolonged periods of time. And as if to make things worse, the Yule Ball was going to be held at Hogwarts and the champions were not only required to be there, but they had to open with the first dance, which meant dates. Harry didn't do dates.

"I reckon I should just ask the first girl I come across," Harry said glumly.

"Oh, it's not so bad," Hermione tried to console him. "In case you haven't noticed, you're handsome and charming, you won't have any problems finding a date."

"Why Hermione, you wouldn't be trying to hint at something would you?" Harry teased, waggling his eyebrows in an exaggeratedly flirtatious manner.

"In your dreams," she scoffed.

"You wound me beautiful lady," the Slytherin threw a hand over his heart, "I fear I may never recover."

"I'm sure you will."

"So you don't have any idea who you want to ask?" Blaise queried.

"I was thinking Fleur, maybe."

Ron suddenly began violently choking on his own breath, Draco helpfully slapped his back a few times. "_Fleur_," he managed to gasp out when he'd caught his breath. "Why her?"

Harry shrugged "She's got to have at least half the school asking her out, I'll just be another face in the crowd."

"I'm fairly certain that did nothing to help us understand," Neville said flatly.

"It'll be a challenge to get her to say yes, I like a challenge."

"You want to ask her out because you think she'll be a _challenge_?"

"Is that weird?"

"_Yes!_"

* * *

It wasn't a challenge.

Fleur had been so impressed with his ability to hold an articulate conversation with her without turning into an incoherent, drooling mess (not to mention his witty charm and all around good looks) she had accepted Harry's invitation to attend the Yule Ball with him, after of course taking several days to deliberate her options. Ron had been shell-shocked and in awe of the blonde's acceptance, Draco and Blaise weren't much better, even Loki had been impressed by Harry's date, informing him that Fleur was almost as beautiful as the woman of Asgard. Hermione, on the other hand, had told him that he was probably the only person the part-veela would have a good time with and asked him if he needed help learning to dance, which he had replied to the negative, assuring her that he was confident in his dancing abilities.

The ball ended up being great fun with a few surprises thrown into the mix; Hermione, who looked stunning in a simple periwinkle blue dressed, attended the ball with Viktor Krum of all people, Neville managed to score a date with a pretty blonde Hufflepuff named Hannah Abbott, while Draco, Blaise, and Ron declared themselves bachelors and went in each others' company. The group was seated around a table with the Cedric Diggory and his date Cho Chang and all spent an enjoyable dinner discussing things of varying topics, by the end of the night, Harry was pleased to say he had made several new friends.

* * *

"I think we've been going about this the completely wrong way," Neville announced during one of their regular study sessions in the library.

"How so, Nev?" Harry asked, distractedly flipping through a book on Mermish customs.

"Well, we've been looking at spells to help you breathe underwater or to transfigure you into a creature that can survive in the water."

"Yes, that's right," Hermione nodded.

"But we haven't thought of the other problems he might face."

Harry marked the page in his book and turned his full attention to Neville. "Like what?"

"The task is taking place in February, which means the lake is guaranteed to be freezing and there will be creatures you might have to fight off, something you can't do if you're an eel or a koi."

"Koi," Harry sniffed. "As if."

"Oh, you know what I mean. My point is, I was thinking that maybe bubble head charms and human transfigurations weren't the way to go, so I started looking into other forms of magic, namely Herbology, and found this," Neville handed Harry a thick Herbology tome and pointed to a short passage on a plant called Gillyweed.

Harry read the passage carefully, his excitement grew with every second. "Neville, this is brilliant!"

The others crowded around Harry to read the book and were soon exclaiming their admiration of the idea.

"But where would we find Gillyweed?" Ron asked. "Do you think the apothecary in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade have some in stock?"

"They might," Harry said, "but I know somewhere better."

* * *

"Nine nights scrubbing cauldrons and eight inventorying the store room."

"Five nights scrubbing and three with inventory," Harry countered.

"Seven and six."

"Make it five and four and I'll throw in an extra night scrubbing potions off of the ceiling."

The two Slytherins looked up at the ceiling and the month's worth of botched potions caked onto it. "Deal."

Harry gleefully accepted the pouch of Gillyweed from Snape. "Thank you very much, Professor."

"Though I may come to regret it, I feel the need to ask why you just agreed to ten days of cleaning for a pouch of Gillyweed."

"The second task, sir. _Come seek us where our voices sound, we cannot sing above the ground_. I needed a way to not only breathe in, but survive and navigate creature infested waters in the beginning of February."

Snape nodded. "You know exactly what you're up against?"

Harry grinned cheekily. "There's no need to worry, sir, everything's in order."

"Worry," Snape scoffed, but there was a genuine, albeit very well hidden, sparkle of relief in his eyes, "I would hardly be distressed if you were to remain in the lake, life would, without a doubt, be much more peaceful."

"Ah, but you're not one for a peaceful life, are you professor?"

* * *

The second task began with very little pomp, the four champions lined up along the lake and received their instructions, and then, with the short shriek of a whistle, leapt into the frigid waters. Harry had eaten the Gillyweed several minutes before the task began, as all of his research had told him it worked best if given a few minutes to activate, so by the time he dove into the lake gills had formed, he had spouted flippers on his hands and feet, and, much to his relief, the water rather than being cold enough to freeze his blood, felt pleasantly cool.

With the help of his newly formed limbs, Harry slid through the water with natural borne ease. He had an unpleasant encounter with a group of Grindylows, but that was dealt with in a matter of seconds, and he ran into the giant squid, who waved lazily at him before continuing on its merry way. He had just reached the thirty minute mark when he heard a soft, haunting song drifting through the water.

"_An hour long you have to look,_

_And to recover what we took._

_Your time's half gone so tarry not_

_Lest what you seek stays here to rot."_

Harry followed the sound of the song and soon came to a large rock painted with the scene of a group of mermaids armed with spears and chasing the giant squid. Soon after that, he came to the village where he and his gills and flippers were gawked at by grey skinned, yellow eyed merpeople all the way to the village center. There he found a group of armed merpeople guarding an enormous statue of a merman with Blaise, Hermione, Cho, and a little girl no older than eight tied to its powerful tail.

Harry singled out the fiercest female of the group and swam to her, when he was barely a foot away from her, he bared his throat and held his arms out gills up, leaving himself at her mercy. He remained in the position for several seconds before a gentle hand ran along his gills then touched his throat and he relaxed.

"_May I pass?" _he asked in barely accented Mermish.

The chieftainess nodded and the other merpeople moved aside so he could swim to the statue unimpeded. He drew his dagger, easily sliced through the thick, slimy weeds binding Blaise to the statue and pulled his friend to his side. "_Will they be…" _he struggled for a second, trying to find the word he was looking for, he wasn't fluent in Mermish, far from it in fact, he had only covered the basics. "…_safe?" _he finally managed.

The chieftainess paused and then nodded once, Harry breathed a sigh of relief and bowed with three fingers pressed against his heart in a show of appreciation and gratitude. "_Thank you_,"And then he kicked off to the surface.

The added weight of another person slowed Harry down only a tad, but he managed to make it to the top with no problem. The moment his and Blaise's head broke the surface, Blaise woke up with a quiet gasp. "Bloody hell!" he cried. "What're we doing in the lake?"

"You were kidnapped by merpeople and dragged to the bottom of the lake and I, like the true knight in shining armor I am, rescued you," Harry explained. "You're welcome."

"_I'm _what you'd miss most? I'm flattered."

"Oh, shut up, you prat. I'm pretty sure the teachers threw your, Ron, Neville, and Draco's name into a hat and chose at random, you were just the lucky winner."

"Why not Hermione as well?"

"She was already claimed by Krum."

Any other conversation was stopped when the waiting audience finally caught sight of the two fourth years paddling toward the bank and broke into deafening cheers.

"And to think these were the people who were cursing your name not even three months ago," Blaise laughed over the furor as he and Harry climbed out of the lake and allowed Madam Pomfrey to hand them towels and fuss over them.

"Fickle lot," Harry agreed.

"Harry! Blaise!" the two boys watched as Neville, Draco, and Ron approached grinning like loons.

"You're in first place, mate." Ron cried gleefully "None of the other champions have made it back yet."

"I'm a bit miffed though," Draco sniffed. "Why is _Blaise _the person you'd miss most?"

"Luck of the draw, apparently," Blaise shrugged.

The four settled down and waited, Fleur was the next to return, bruised and bloody and screaming for her little sister, none of the judges were able to calm her and the Calming Draught Madam Pomfrey tried to give her was promptly thrown into the lake.

Eventually, Harry climbed to his feet and crossed over to Fleur. "'Arry!" she cried, latching onto him when he was close enough. "'Arry, my sister, Gabrielle, did you see her? Eez she hurt?"

"Gabrielle is fine," he comforted the older girl, after the Yule Ball the two hadn't pursued any kind of romantic relationship, choosing instead to become good friends. "I saw her in the lake, she's sleeping, but she's all right, not hurt at all. I talked to the chieftainess, she assured me she would be safe."

"Ze grindylows attacked me," Fleur sniffed, calming just a bit at the news that her sister was safe, "I could not fight zem off."

"It's all right, were you hurt badly?"

Fleur had recovered enough to sniff and raise her nose in an impressive imitation of Draco. "Nuzzing, I can't 'andle."

Harry laughed. "There's the arrogant snob we all know. But would you let me heal you? I'm a worrisome old fool."

Fleur sighed heavily, as if he were inconveniencing her, but nodded nonetheless. "I suppose."

Harry ran his wand along the cuts on her face and arms, easily healing them, and then mended her robes. "Come on, love, sit with me and the guys, we can wait for the others with them."

"What about, Gabrielle?"

"I'm sure the tournament officials will bring her and any other captives who weren't rescued back up, and if not, you can bet your buttons I'll raise all sorts of hell until they do."

"I'm sure you will," Fleur laughed. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say zay you enjoy making a fuss." After a few more minor altercations between Harry and Dumbledore, the Beauxbatons students had been informed of last year's confrontation between the then third year and the headmaster and how Harry hadn't shown Dumbledore the slightest amount of respect since.

"_Me?_" Harry scoffed. "Never."

She, Harry, Neville, Ron, Blaise, and Draco settled down at the edge of the lake and watched as, after several minutes, Cedric and Cho resurfaced, Hermione and Krum arrived soon after accompanied by a group of merpeople, one of whom was carrying a now conscious silver haired, eight year old.

"Gabrielle!" Fleur cried and waded back out into the freezing water to help her shivering sister back to shore.

As the five were treated by Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore approached the water's edge and began conversing in Mermish with the chieftainess gesturing at Harry as they spoke. The fourteen year old was only able to understand pieces of the conversation, but from what he managed to pick up, concluded that she was informing him of what had happened at the bottom of the lake.

After several long minutes of conversation, she and the others dove back into the lake and Dumbledore slowly straightened up. "A conference before we give the marks, I think," he said, and he and the other judges gathered around to converse the results.

While they waited, Harry made his way over to where Fleur was hugging a tightly bundled Gabrielle to her chest. "Are you all right?" he asked the little girl.

"Oui," she said shyly "Je suis…_all right_."

Harry smiled kindly. "Je suis heureux."

He remained with the two girls, conversing in an eclectic mix of French and English until Bagman pulled away from the group of judges to give the scores.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Merchieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows.

"Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points."

"I deserved zero," Fleur protested, shaking her head.

"Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective, and was third to return with his hostage. We award him forty points."

Karkaroff clapped especially hard, looking incredibly smug despite the fact that his champion had come in third place.

"Cedric Diggory, also used the Bubble-Head Charm and was second to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour. We therefore award him forty-seven points."

This was met with enormous applause from the Hufflepuffs.

"Harry Potter used gillyweed to great effect," Bagman continued. "And, not only did he return first and with twenty minutes to spare, but the Merchieftainess informed us that Mr. Potter showed great knowledge in Mermish customs and treated her and her people with great respect. For this we award him full marks."

This time even the usually reserved Slytherins joined in the cheers and applause for the youngest champion.

"The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty-fourth of June," Bagman announced. "The champions will be notified of what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions."

* * *

"I got a letter from Sirius and Remus," Harry said the morning after the second task.

"You did?" Hermione asked. "About what?"

"They were checking in on us, making sure we were staying out of trouble in Remus' case and telling us we'd better be wreaking all sorts of havoc in Sirius'."

"How's Sirius doing?" Neville inquired.

"Loads better, both physically and mentally, he's still seeing a mind healer, but she says he's making progress in leaps and bounds."

"Good," Blaise said, "I've actually grown fond of the crazy mutt."

"I think we all have," Ron agreed.

"Don't lump me in with the rest of you," Draco said haughtily. "I want nothing to do with the madman and the wolf."

No one paid any attention to his objections, they were far too used to the blonde's attitude and knew not to take anything he said seriously.

"Now that we've got a couple of months before we start researching for the third task our schedules are free," Neville said happily, "what should we do?"

"We haven't visited Hagrid in a while."

"Let's do that then."

Breakfast was finished and the group trouped down to Hagrid's hut, they spent a pleasant morning with the half giant, Harry gave them all a blow-by-blow account of what had happened in the lake the previous day, and Hagrid entertained them with his latest exploits with all sorts of dangerous creatures. They had a filling lunch and then went out to the lake where they settled down with the intentions of lazing about for the rest of the day, however, the cold soon became too much for all but Harry and they retreated to the Ravenclaw common room to sit around the fire.

"Hello," a petite third year, with dreamy silver eyes and dirty blonde hair smiled absentmindedly at the group of fourth years, she was sitting in the shadows a few yards away from Harry's seat, not even he had noticed her until she had spoken.

"Hello," Harry greeted the girl, "I didn't see you there."

"It's all right, most people don't notice me. I'm Luna Lovegood."

"I'm Harry Potter and these are my friends," he pointed out each of his friends and introduced them to the girl.

Luna nodded politely to the others, and then stood and curtsied to Harry. "It's an honor to meet you, your highness."

Harry ignored his friends' confused murmurs and smiled at the girl in bemusement. "It's an honor to meet you as well, but your highness? No matter how much I wish otherwise, I'm just a lowly commoner."

Luna cocked her head, confusion evident in her eyes. "Aren't you the son of the trickster prince?"

There was silence as Harry observed Luna in confusion, he heard Ron mutter something that sounded suspiciously like, "Loony Lovegood", but paid him no mind.

Carefully, he expanded his magic, searching for Luna's, and almost immediately it met his. Luna's magic was odd, vast and wild and free, it was unlike anything Harry had ever felt before. It felt old and _wise_. From what he could see, Luna's magic was altering her view on the world, allowing her to see things others couldn't; it wasn't bad per se, but it set her apart from her peers making her an easy target for bullying. Harry had heard rumors about the crazy girl in Ravenclaw.

"Unfortunately," he said, pulling his magic back in, "I'm of no royal blood, but I certainly have the regal good looks for it don't I?" As his friends snorted and made teasingly derisive comments, Harry winked at Luna and put a finger to his lips in the universal gesture to keep quiet.

Luna grinned and nodded, showing she'd understood. "You certainly do."

"Ah, I like you," Harry crowed delightedly. "Come, sit with us, Ms. Lovegood, we're friends now."

Luna happily sat beside Harry. "You'll be a good friend," she said decisively. "You don't have any wrackspurts."

"Wrackspurts? What are those?"

"They're invisible creatures that float in through your ears and make your brain go fuzzy."

"Are they dangerous? Can you see them? How do I keep them away?"

Draco shook his head and scoffed derisively "Are you seriously believing this, Potter?"

"Hush, Draco, don't be rude," Harry scolded, "Luna's telling me about the wrackspurts," he looked expectantly at Luna, silently prompting her to speak.

"Well, they're not dangerous as long as you get rid of them before they settle in. You can only see them when you're looking through spectrespecs, I have an extra pair if you'd like to borrow them."

"I would."

Luna pulled a pair of brightly colored glasses from her bag and handed them to Harry who didn't hesitate to put them on, Luna put on a matching pair. Ron, Draco, Neville, and Blaise burst into hysterical laughter and Hermione gave Harry and Luna an odd look, but the two bespectacled teenagers ignored them and looked around the room.

"There are some floating around Ronald's ears," Luna pointed out.

Harry squinted at Ron's head, looking for the fabled wrackspurt, but he didn't see a thing.

"You've got to look really hard, people who've never seen them before have a hard time catching sight of them."

Harry sent his magic searching for any magical auras floating around Ron's head and, to his shock came up with seven tiny pinpricks of magic, no bigger than a grape. They weren't magical creatures, of that he could be certain, but there was _something _there. "I see them," he told Luna. "Seven of them, dancing around Ron's abnormally large head."

He looked down and found Luna staring up at him in shock. "You can see them?"

Harry nodded. "Kind of hard to miss them."

Of course this prompted all of his friends to dive for the spectrespecs in hopes of seeing the "wrackspurts" but because they didn't have Luna's odd magic or Harry's ability to see magic in its natural state they saw nothing.

"You're both crazy," Draco said with a small bemused smile.

"Just because you can't see them doesn't mean they're not real," Luna informed him wisely.

"Draco's just jealous," Harry threw an arm around Luna's shoulder. "He doesn't like being left out."

Draco shook his head in exasperation. "Why are we even friends?"

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin!"

The four month hiatus between the second and third task had passed with alarming haste, one moment Harry was celebrating making it through the second task alive, and the next he's staring up at a maze that stood at least twenty feet high and was filled, no doubt, with all sorts of dangerous creatures and enchantments.

Harry only partially listened to Bagman as he rattled off the scores of each contestant and what place they were in, Harry was in first, Cedric in second, Krum in third, and Fleur in fourth. Because Harry was, thus far, winning the tournament, he got a few minute's head start which he was sure to use to his advantage.

"There will be teachers patrolling the outside of the maze," Bagman said. "If you get into difficulty, and wish to be rescued, send red sparks into the air, and one of us will come and get you, do you understand?" the four champions nodded. "Excellent. Are you ready, Harry?"

"Would it matter if I wasn't?" the fourteen year old asked sardonically.

"That's the spirit. Now, on my whistle, three…two…one…" Bagman's whistle shrieked and he was off, plunging into the maze.

* * *

The cup was _right there_, the golden Triwizard cup was only a dozen or so yards away, it was so close it was infuriating, but Harry made no move to go to it, his broken, bleeding leg wouldn't allow him to get to it, even if there hadn't been an enormous dead acromantula blocking his way.

"Take it," he told Cedric, who stood on the other side of the acromantula, only a few feet away from the cup. "You deserve it."

Cedric looked at the cup with such longing Harry was sure he would reach out and grab, but the seventh year shook his head and stepped away from the shining gold cup. "No…no, you deserve it more, that's twice you've saved my neck and that's only in here. I would have gone down in the first task if you hadn't told me about the dragons."

Harry huffed in irritation and steadied himself against the hedge. "Stop trying to be noble, you're no Gryffindor, just take the cup so we can get out of here."

Cedric scrambled over the acromantulas legs and moved to Harry's side. "Hufflepuffs can be noble too," he looked as though this was costing him every ounce of resolution he had, but his face was set, his arms were folded, he seemed decided.

Harry groaned, stupid stubborn Hufflepuffs, and he'd thought Gryffindors were bad. "Fine then, it'll have to be the both of us then."

"What?"

"We'll take it at the same time. It'll still be a Hogwarts victory."

For a moment, Cedric looked as though he couldn't believe his ears, then his face split in a grin. "Brilliant, why didn't I think of that? Come here."

He threw Harry's arm around his shoulder and helped him limp toward the plinth where the cup stood. When they had reached it, they both held a hand out over one of the cup's gleaming handles.

"On three," Harry said. "One…two…three…"

Immediately, Harry felt a jerk somewhere behind his navel and his feet left the ground. He couldn't unclench the hand holding the Triwizard Cup, it was pulling him onward in a howl of wind and swirling color, Cedric at his side. The world sped by, and Harry choked on the relentless wind.

Just as he was about to pass out from the lack of oxygen, it ended. His feet hit the ground hard, his injured leg gave way under him and he crumpled to the ground.

Cedric scrambled to his feet and then helped Harry up. "Are you all right?"

"I'll survive," he looked around, warily scanning their surroundings. They were in a dark, overgrown graveyard shrouded in an ominous mist. "Where are we?"

"I don't know, do you think this is a part of the task?"

"I'm not sure. Wands out though, just to be safe."

"Yeah," he and Harry pulled out their wands and peered into the darkness, nervously waiting for something, anything to happen, and after several torturously long moments, something did.

"Someone's coming," Harry whispered, tightening his grip on his wand. "Be ready."

They watched tensely as the person moved closer and closer, steadily weaving through the gravestones. The person was short and thick, with a hooded cloak obscuring their face, they were cradling something close to their chest, something that looked a lot like a baby.

Harry didn't let his guard down as the person stopped beside an enormous gravestone and simply stood there, watching them.

"I don't like this," Cedric whispered.

Harry was just about to voice his agreement when suddenly his scar exploded in a pain he had never felt before, it was only years of abuse by his relative's hands that kept him on his feet and coherent.

Through his pain he heard a high, cold voice say three words that chilled him to the core. "Kill the spare."

And then, a second, squeaky all too familiar voice spoke. "_Avada Kedavra!_"


	9. Chapter Nine

Harry only had seconds to react. As the violently green spell sped toward them, he reached out and shoved Cedric with all of his might. The wide eyed Hufflepuff fell backwards, directly on top of the Triwizard cup, and disappeared with nothing more than a soft whoosh of air to signal his departure. The force Harry put behind the push sent him toppling to the ground, the Killing Curse sped only inches past his face and hit a tombstone only a few feet behind him, throwing shrapnel everywhere. For the second time in however many minutes, Harry found himself on the ground with a mouthful of dirt.

"Restrain him," the cold voice hissed.

Harry attempted to get on his feet, but his bad leg refused to cooperate, the short hooded man grabbed the back of his robes and dragged him to the marble tombstone. Harry only just caught sight of the name on the stone, Tom Riddle, before his wand was wrenched from his hand and he was bound neck to ankle to it. He strained against the ties, but the cloaked figure hit him with a hand that was missing its index finger.

"Pettigrew," Harry whispered dangerously. "Oh, I should have known it was you, you cowardly little rat. You better pray to whatever deity will listen to your pathetic pleas that these ropes hold, because if I get free of them I'll kill you, and I'll do it _nice and slow_."

Pettigrew gulped and stumbled away from him, but he made no other indication that he had heard the boy's words. He scurried into the shadows, only to return several seconds later breathing heavily as he dragged a large cauldron full of what looked to be water to the foot of the grave.

"Heavy?" Harry asked mock sympathetically. Pettigrew paid no attention to him but that was fine by him, he didn't want the man to notice how he was slowly attempting to maneuver his hand into a more ideal position. He didn't need a wand to do magic, he just needed to get a good grip on the ropes in order to cut through them, an endeavor that was proving to be much more difficult than he'd anticipated. The ropes were bloody tight.

Pettigrew summoned flames beneath the cauldron and, almost immediately, the liquid in the cauldron began to bubble and send off fiery sparks.

The bundle of robes Harry had assumed was a baby stirred persistently at his feet, it was only when it spoke in the high, cold voice Harry had been hearing did he realize that it was _not _a baby. "Hurry."

"It's ready, Master."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

Pettigrew pulled open the robes on the ground, revealing what was inside them.

Harry paused in working to free himself to stare at the creature in revulsion. "Oh, that's disgusting," he said. It was as though Pettigrew had flipped over a stone and revealed something ugly, slimy, and blind that had been growing beneath it. The thing had the shape of a human child, except that Harry had never seen anything less like a child. It was hairless and scaly-looking, a dark, raw, reddish black skin. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble, and its face was flat and snakelike, with gleaming red eyes.

The thing raised its thin arms, put them around Pettigrew's neck, and allowed itself to be carried to the cauldron and lowered into the liquid, Harry heard its frail body hit the bottom with a soft thud.

"I guess it's too much to hope that thing will drown," he muttered, renewing his efforts to free himself.

Wormtail, still ignoring Harry, raised his wand and spoke clearly. "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"

The grave at Harry's feet cracked, a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Wormtail's command and fell softly into the cauldron. The surface of the liquid sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous blue.

Pettigrew pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak, his voice broke into petrified sobs and his hand shook violently. "Flesh…of the servant…w-willingly given…you will revive…your master."

He stretched his right hand out in front of him, the hand with the missing finger, he gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and in one clean motion, cut his hand off.

The man's scream pierced the night as his severed hand fell into the potion with a sickening _plop_, but instead of feeling sympathetic, Harry fiercely wished he had a tub of salt.

Pettigrew was still gasping and moaning with agony when he stumbled over to Harry and put the bloodied knife to the crook of his elbow. "B-blood of the enemy… forcibly taken… you will… resurrect your foe."

Harry could do nothing to prevent it, he was tied too tightly and if he tried to use magic he'd only end up hurting himself, he could only give Pettigrew his most vicious glare as he cut through his skin, collected a drop of blood, and poured it into the cauldron. The liquid turned a blinding white as Pettigrew collapsed to his knees, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm, gasping and sobbing.

And then, suddenly, the sparks jumping from the cauldron like Yuletide firecrackers were extinguished and a surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron. For a second all was still but then a man, tall and skeletally thin, rose slowly from inside the cauldron.

"Robe me." said the high, cold voice.

Immediately, Pettigrew, still sobbing and moaning, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground and pulled them one-handed over his master's head.

The thin man stepped out of the cauldron staring at Harry, and Harry stared back at the face that was whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils.

"Voldemort," Harry said steadily, not a trace of fear in his voice, "I must say, tales of your greatness were greatly exaggerated, reduced to relying on vermin such as him." He nodded toward Pettigrew. "Oh how the mighty have fallen, and all because of a mere babe and his 'mudblood' mother."

"You speak such bold words, Harry Potter," Voldemort hissed. "We will see how long your bravado remains after a bout or two under the Cruciatus."

"I'm absolutely shaking in my boots."

"My Lord," Pettigrew choked pathetically. "My Lord…you promised."

Voldemort looked away from Harry and down at his servant in disgust. "Hold out your arm," he said lazily.

"Oh thank you, Master…thank you."

Pettigrew held out his bleeding arm, but Voldemort sneered at him. "The other arm, Wormtail."

"But…Master."

Voldemort grabbed Pettigrew's left arm and pulled back the sleeve, the Dark Mark was ink blank on his pallid skin, and pressed an unnaturally long finger to the mark, a fresh wave of pain stung Harry's scar and Pettigrew screamed out in agony.

"How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?" Voldemort whispered, red eyes gleaming. "And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?"

The snake-like creature, for there was no way he could any longer be considered even remotely human, paced lazily in front of the desecrated grave and gave Harry a cold smirk as he waited for his followers' arrival. "You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father." he hissed softly. "A Muggle and a fool, very like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death."

Harry listened in barely concealed disbelief as Voldemort, like all villains, foolishly revealed things he probably should have kept secret. Like the fact that his mother had been a pureblooded witch who had seduced a rich muggle man who had left her, pregnant with their child, when he found out that she was a witch. Or that his mother had died giving birth to him, leaving him to be raised in a muggle orphanage with only the name Tom Riddle, the name he had inherited from his father, as a clue to the identity of his parents.

But then the Death Eaters arrived, dozens upon dozens of them between graves, behind the yew tree, in every shadowy space. Harry watched in morbid fascination as Voldemort weaved his words into a carefully admonishing, guilt-inducing speech until, finally, one of his servants threw themselves to the ground, begging for forgiveness only to be Crucioed for his efforts.

"Get up, Avery," Voldemort said. "Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years… I want thirteen years' repayment before I forgive you. Wormtail here has paid some of his debt already, have you not, Wormtail?"

Harry scowled as, after enduring a bit of ridicule, Pettigrew received a shining silver hand as a reward for his "loyalty", he'd hoped to bathe the wound in lemon juice before killing the rat, but now that was out.

"May your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail," Voldemort told the man as he repeatedly kissed his robes.

"Never, My Lord."

Voldemort slowly addressed each person in the circle, admonishing them for their lack of faith in him, Harry felt his gut clench when he spoke to Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, the man's presence would cause quite a bit of problems for both him and his blonde friend in the future.

"Master, we crave to know, we beg you to tell us how you have achieved this-this miracle… how you managed to return to us," the Malfoy patriarch requested hesitantly.

"Ah, what a story it is, Lucius." said Voldemort. "And it begins, and ends, with my young friend here."

Voldemort launched into a long winded spiel about his fall that Halloween night thirteen years ago, how he wandered the country as nothing more than an insubstantial spirit until Quirrell stumbled upon him in Albania, he recounted Quirrell's failure and how he was, again forced back to Albania until Pettigrew found him and helped him gain the disgusting body that he had inhabited. Harry was disgruntled to hear that it was a Death Eater hidden in Hogwarts that had entered him into the tournament with the intentions of making the cup a portkey and doing everything in his power to make sure Harry was the one to get to it.

"And here he is," Voldemort finally concluded, "the boy you all believed had been my downfall." he slowly moved forward and turned to face Harry. "_Crucio_!"

Harry had been under the Cruciatus once before in his first year, it had been horrible, he, who had endured the worst kind of pains, had barely been able to string together a coherent thought when under Quirrell's Cruciatus. This was infinitely worse. The pain was so horrible Harry was sure he would die, and he would gladly embrace death, but thankfully it stopped after only a handful of minutes.

Harry spat out a mouthful of blood as he glared venomously at Voldemort, he'd bit his tongue in order to keep from screaming, he would never give the madman the pleasure of hearing his screams. "It seems thirteen years as an insubstantial spirit has weakened your punch," he sneered.

"Do you see how foolish it was to suppose that this boy could ever have been stronger than me." Voldemort said, ignoring the spiteful jibe. "But I want there to be no mistake in anybody's mind, Harry Potter escaped me by a lucky chance. And I am now going to prove my power by killing him, here and now, in front of you all, when there is no Dumbledore to help him, and no mother to die for him. I will give him his chance. He will be allowed to fight, and you will be left in no doubt which of us is the stronger. Just a little longer, Nagini," he whispered, an enormous snake glided away through the grass to where the Death Eaters stood watching. "Now untie him, Wormtail, and give him back his wand."

Pettigrew scurried over to Riddle Sr.'s grave, easily sliced through the ropes binding Harry to the tombstone, and shoved his wand into his hand.

Harry leaned heavily against the grave, his bad leg was unable to support him. "_Ferula,_" he muttered and immediately bandages leapt from the tip of his wand and wrapped themselves tightly around his leg, binding it to a splint. He gingerly put his weight on the leg and gave a sigh of relief when it held.

Voldemort watched the proceedings with interest "You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?" he asked.

"I'll find my way around it," Harry responded easily.

Voldemort laughed condescendingly. "We begin by bowing to each other, Harry."

"I don't think I gave you permission to use my first name," Harry said imitating his haughty blonde friend, but he bowed nonetheless, a shallow curve of his spine.

Voldemort's eyes flashed dangerously. "And now we duel."

Without a moment's hesitation he shot off another Cruciatus, but Harry was ready, he dove to the side and came up wand at the ready. "Are those all the spells you know?" he asked responding with a severing charm that Voldemort easily sidestepped. "Killing Curses and Crucios? You're not much of a dark lord." The comment earned him another Cruciatus, which he also dodged.

Despite the grave situation, Harry couldn't help but feel excitement as adrenaline coursed through his veins, other than Loki, he had never had a worthy dueling opponent, if he didn't end up dead this would be a great test for his dueling abilities.

"_Depulso! Defodio!" _the Dark Lord sidestepped the first spell but stepped directly into the path of the second, a large chunk tore out of his arm and he growled in fury.

"First blood goes to me," Harry laughed triumphantly, which only served to infuriate his opponent even more if the slew of dark curses that succeeded the comment were anything to go by, he threw up a strong shield, but several passed straight through it and he was forced to dive to the ground.

"Not so arrogant now, are we, Potter?" Voldemort taunted as the fourteen year old climbed to his feet.

"My head of house has told me on several occasions that my arrogance is such an enormous force it has a gravitational pull of itself and that he fears not even the gravest of insults can dampen it."

"It'll take but a few curses from me to change that."

"It seems your arrogance is even larger than mine, that's quite an impressive feat."

The two exchanged spells, at first testing the waters, searching for weaknesses or limits in their opponents, and then they became serious. The Death Eaters could do nothing but watch in awe as the Dark Lord and the boy who defeated him when he was just a babe fought like the gods themselves. The graveyard was illuminated by blinding, colorful lights and the sounds of spells hitting Death Eaters, tombstones, and, every now and then, their targets filled the air, joined often by the bantering of the two opponents.

"You are skilled, I will give you that, Potter," Voldemort hissed as he simultaneously bombarded Harry with a mix of skin melting curses, Crucios, and a few organ rupturing hexes. "You are a worthy opponent, you would do well to join me, we could be great."

"Oh please," Harry snorted, dodging the slew of nasty curses. "After all of the grief you have, are, and no doubt _will _cause me? It'll be a cold day in hell when I join you."

"Very well, if you won't join me I'll simply have to kill you."

"Yes, because you've done a brilliant job at that so far."

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

Harry summoned a tombstone to block the incoming curse, a lot of the resulting shrapnel sliced into his skin, opening several large wounds, but he ignored the injuries and retaliated with several curses of his own. "I'm sure you can do better than that."

"_Fiendfyre!_"

Harry's gut clenched as the fiery serpent leapt at him, maw open in a horrible scream, but he refused to lose his cool, figuratively speaking at least.

"_Glacius!_" a stream of ice shot from his wand and met the snake head on, it evaporated the moment it met the fire, but it managed to hold the fiery beast back.

"_Glacius Duo_," the stream of ice grew larger and faster, the temperature in the graveyard steadily dropped until Voldemort, Harry, and the Death Eaters could see their breaths in the air. The snake shrieked in pain and fell back several yards. The cold invigorated Harry, making both him and his magic stronger and giving him that final push to destroy the fiery snake. He grinned as he channeled the ice flooding his veins through his wand and to the snake, wrapping it in deadly shards of ice and extinguishing the flames with ease.

Voldemort staggered back several steps, his eyes were widened just a fraction and there was horror and maybe even a hint of fear on his face. "What _are _you?"

This would have been the ideal time to say something totally cliché like, "Your worst nightmare," or a line as equally corny, but Harry simply raised his wand, ready to finish it all. But then his eyes fell onto the hand wrapped around his wand. It was blue. And so was his other hand, as well as both of his arms, his chest, and, if Voldemort's expression was any indication, his face.

"What in the hell?" he dropped his wand a fraction of an inch, and held his hand closer to his face. But even as he watched, the blue began creeping up his skin, slowly fading away.

The question seemed to shock Voldemort from the bewildered state he'd fallen into. "It's time for you, whatever you may be, to die. _Avada Kedavra!_"

Harry threw himself to the ground and cursed violently when he landed on his wounded chest, all the while he was silently berating himself for not hightailing it out of there when he had had the chance. Dueling was fun and all, but his father, not to mention his friends, would kill him ten times over if he ended up dead. It was time to go.

"_Fumos,_" as a thick cloud of dark gray smoke flew from his wand, obscuring him from view. Harry leapt to his feet and took off in the opposite direction of Voldemort and his group of Death Eaters, the smoke screen would only give him a few seconds of a head start so he had to make the most of it.

"_Ventus_," an enormous gust of wind blew away the smoke just as Harry leapt behind one of the many tombstones littering the grounds. "Find him!" Voldemort screeched in fury. "Before he gets away!" and there went his head start.

Harry took a deep steadying breath, pain ripped through his chest but he forced himself to ignore it, the Death Eaters were getting closer, if he didn't move it wouldn't take long to be found. He took a couple of seconds to steel himself, and then he darted from behind one tombstone to another, and then another, and another. He managed to make it halfway through the cemetery before a curse shot over his head and there was a shout of, "I've found him!"

Harry sped away with the Death Eaters close at his heels, he was moving as fast as he could but his wounds and the subsequent blood loss was taking a toll on him, one Death Eater managed to hit him with a bone breaking hex that shattered the bone in his elbow, and another caught his bad leg with a cutting curse, it was only sheer stubbornness that kept him going, but not even that could hold him for long. He had just reached the gate leading out of the cemetery when another bone breaking hex hit him, this time on the ankle of his good leg, he collapsed only feet away from the gate.

"Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit." Harry muttered as he attempted to drag himself with his one good arm further. The Death Eaters, who had slowed down once they saw that he couldn't get away, laughed mockingly at him.

"You put up a good fight, Harry Potter," Voldemort smirked, approaching leisurely, "but, as they all do, you have fallen to the might of Lord Voldemort."

"How do you manage to fit through a doorway with such a large ego?"

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

Harry closed his eyes, he wasn't afraid to die, not in the slightest, but he felt sorrow at the thought of all he'd leave behind when he did, Ron, Neville, Draco, Hermione, Blaise, but his father especially. His friends had each other to share their grief with, but his father had no one, Uncle Thor and his grandparents knew nothing of his existence so Loki could not go to them for comfort. He was afraid of what his father would do in his grief, the trickster god was formidable and ruthless at his best, Harry shuddered to think of what he'd do at his worst.

He felt rather than saw the green light engulf him, and he waited for death to take him.

Only it didn't.

There was the expected flash of bright green and then there was screaming and a hell of a lot of it too, there were so many screams of so many different pitches and volumes they came off as more of a deafening roar. If this was death, Harry didn't think he liked it too much, his head was aching something fierce, his chest hurt with every breath he took, and his broken bones were throbbing painfully, he thought the least they could do when he died was take away all his pain, but _no_ apparently he'd have to live in eternal agony. This must be hell.

"Potter! Potter!" and that must be the devil calling his name.

He only had time to be morbidly amused at the thought when he felt someone grab his shoulder and roughly flip him onto his back, he gasped in agony when his wounds were jostled.

"You idiot! Can't you see he's hurt? Move away before you do any more damage," a familiar acerbic voice snarled. "Potter? Potter can you hear me?"

With more effort than he thought was necessary, Harry forced his eyelids to open and blinked up at the face hovering over his. "P'fessor Snape?" he slurred. "You're 'n angel?"

"What in the blazes are you talking about, Potter?"

"N'ver saw 'at one c'ming."

"I'm not an angel,"

Harry gasped "God?"

"No, I'm not God either," Snape snapped.

Harry hesitated, his brows furrowed in thought. "Grandfather?"

"What? _No, _Potter,"

"B-but, 'm dead, aren't I?"

"I can assure you, you are not _dead_."

"Oh."

"Yes, _oh. _Now, could you be so kind as to tell me where you are hurt so that-"

"Harry! Oh Merlin, Harry!" Harry turned his head just in time to see Hermione throw herself at him only to be caught around the waist by Draco.

"Can't you see he's hurt, Granger?" he snapped "Are you _trying_ to injure him even further or are you just being thick?"

"'mione? Draco?" Harry muttered. "What're you guys doin' here?"

"We've been waiting here since you went into the maze," Hermione said, dropping to her knees beside him, Harry blurrily noticed that Neville, Ron, and Blaise were with her and Draco as well. "And it's been absolutely awful, especially when Cedric came back shouting something about portkeys and Killing Curses and how you'd been left behind."

All Harry could do was stare at her in confusion. What the hell had happened? One moment he was lying helplessly at Lord Voldemort's feet with the Killing Curse coming straight at him and the next he was surrounded by his friends and head of house who was telling him that he was not, in fact, dead.

Harry blinked a few times to clear his vision and then, ignoring the protests the action elicited, sat up to look around. He was back on the Quidditch pitch (how the hell had that happened?), the maze loomed above him to one side, and on the other stood the stands, packed full of screaming shouting students and several adults who were attempting to, what it looked like, herd them back to the school. Much to his unease, Harry was surrounded by a sizeable group of people that consisted of his five friends, Professors Snape and Moody, Cornelius Fudge, and several other concerned staff members, but, thankfully, no Dumbledore.

"The Headmaster has taken Mr. Diggory back into the maze along with Bagman and a few others to find out what happened in an attempt to find you," Snape said as if he was reading his mind. "Now, as I was saying before I was interrupted," he shot a glare at a sheepish looking Hermione, "can you please tell me where you are hurt so we know how to proceed moving you without injuring you further?"

Harry was forced to lie back down as a sudden bout of vertigo hit him. "H-how am I here?"

"That is exactly what we'd like to know, you spontaneously appeared in a flash of green light," Fudge said.

"Your odd arrival and where you were will be discussed later," Snape interrupted. "Right now we have much more pressing matters to deal with. I will not ask again, Potter,"

"Injuries," Harry muttered. "Right. Cuts on my chest…my left leg broken and cut up, right leg and arm broken,"

"Any internal injuries?"

"How should I know?"

"Watch your cheek, Potter," Snape's words were lacking their distinctive bite. "You need to be taken to the hospital wing, after you are checked over and healed we will cover exactly what happened tonight."

"I'll take him," Moody volunteered.

"You will not," Snape rebutted. "I am his head of house, therefore I am responsible for him. You can go and fetch the Headmaster."

Moody made to protest, but one withering glare from the head of Slytherin stopped him in his tracks. "Fine," he scowled, and then clunked his way to the maze.

"Now, if you all are quite done interfering, I will be taking Potter to the infirmary," Snape sneered as he conjured a gurney and levitated Harry onto it.

"May we accompany you, Professor?" Blaise asked, gesturing to him and his friends.

"I suppose as long as you can find the self control to refrain from being nuisances, hard as that may be, you may," the dour potions master agreed, then turned in a swirl of robe and headed up to the castle.  
"Merlin's beard!" Madam Pomfrey gasped when the small group burst into the wing, she'd been administering a potion to a pale Fleur, but the moment she caught sight of Harry she left the girl to her own devices. "Set him on the bed, quickly now."

Snape did as told and immediately Pomfrey began waving her wand over the semi-conscious fourth year. "Three broken bones," she muttered to herself. "Severe lacerations on his chest, leg, and arm, and there's a small amount of acromantula venom in his blood."

"A-acromantula?" Ron stuttered.

"One of the obstacles in the maze," Madam Pomfrey responded distractedly as she waved her wand over Harry again, and then once more. "Mr. Potter, you have severe nerve damage, but I've only seen damage to this extent when someone's been put under…under the…"

"Cruciatus?" Harry supplied.

"Y-yes, and a very powerful one at that."

Harry attempted to shift himself into a more comfortable position on the hospital bed, but stopped when all it brought him was jarring pain from his numerous injuries. "Yeah, it felt pretty powerful."

The silence that followed the casual statement was so heavy Harry almost thought it was tangible. Maybe he should have brought that up a bit more gently.

"You were put under the Cruciatus?" Snape asked quietly. "By whom?" there was a look on the man's face that told Harry he already knew the answer, but he still desperately hoped he was wrong.

"Voldemort,"

"_What?_" Madam Pomfrey whispered, horrified.

"He used my blood in some ritual…and came back."

"He's back?" Draco whispered, his pale face even more so than usual.

"He's back," Harry nodded.

Pomfrey made a gesture to ward off evil. "Oh Merlin," she muttered, "save our souls."

* * *

It didn't take long to heal Harry, especially when his advanced healing kicked in. All it took was a few spells from Madam Pomfrey and a vial of blood replenishing potion and he was back on his feet, although because of the nature of the breaking of both his arm and leg, they would be sore and he would walk with a pronounced limp for a few days.

Unfortunately, Harry didn't have much time to revel in the absence of pain as the moment Madam Pomfrey declared him healed, Dumbledore whisked him away to his office where Professors Snape, Moody, McGonagall and Remus and Sirius, who had arrived earlier that day to watch the third task, were waiting for them.

The old man wasted no time in forcing the details of the night's events from Harry, who grudgingly agreed if only so he could get out of the office as fast as possible and sleep for the next week.

"So what you are saying is that you were hit by the Killing Curse, but instead of dying as you should have you were transported back to Hogwarts' grounds?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry sighed in exasperation and only just refrained from pinching the bridge of his nose, he'd been over this a thousand times. "That is _not _what I'm saying," he snapped. "I don't know what happened, for all I know the Killing Curse could have missed me and I, using some form of accidental magic, managed to apparate through the wards. What I _do _know is that I'm alive, and I'm not going to waste my time pondering the hows and the whys. We've got more important things to worry about."

"Such as?"

"Such as the fact that you've got one of Voldemort's most faithful Death Eaters roaming around the school, and you have since the beginning of the year. They're the one who put my name in the cup hoping to have exactly what happened tonight _happen_."

"How can you be so sure, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore asked.

"Voldemort told me, that among other things, that man knows how to _talk_."

"But who?" Sirius asked. "_Karkaroff?_"

"No, Potter said that the one to put his name in the goblet was a loyal servant of the Dark Lord. Karkaroff betrayed the Dark Lord and a good amount of his servants, there's no way he could even hope to return to Voldemort without being killed promptly for his deceit."

"So who?"

"Who indeed," Dumbledore agreed. "It seems we have much more to discuss, but you have helped us all you can, Mr. Potter, you may return to the infirmary. I think a sleeping draught and a bit of peace would do you a world of good."

"I'll take him," Sirius volunteered.

"No, I need you here." the headmaster ordered. "As well as Remus and Severus."

"I'll accompany the boy," Moody said, then heaved himself from his chair. "Come on now, Potter."

The last thing Harry wanted to do was leave his godfather and honorary uncle alone with the headmaster, but he was far too exhausted to be able to make any sort of argument so he simply nodded and followed Moody out of the office.

"Do you mind if we stop by my office before we head to the infirmary? Need to pick something up." Harry shook his head blearily and allowed the grizzled ex-auror to lead him to his office. "Sit down, Potter."

From his seat in front of Moody's desk, Harry watched as his professor tried and failed to look nonchalant as he rifled through a stack of papers. "You said he forgave them? The Death Eaters who went free? The ones who escaped Azkaban?"

The question was so sudden, it took Harry's weary brain several seconds to comprehend it. "Y-yeah, that's what I said. He put a few of the bastards under the Cruciatus, but he more or less forgave them after they did a bit of groveling."

All traces of badly faked flippancy were gone, Moody looked furious. "They don't deserve to be forgiven," he growled. "Those scum never even went to look for him. Those treacherous cowards wouldn't even brave Azkaban for him. They are faithless, worthless bits of filth who thought themselves brave when they cavorted in their masks at the Quidditch World Cup, but fled at the sight of the Dark Mark when I fired it into the sky."

"Okay, I'm sorry, I must be really tired." Harry said. "Did you just say _you _were the one who fired the Dark Mark?"

"I told you before, Harry, there's nothing I hate more than a Death Eater who walked free. They turned their backs on my master when he needed them most. I expected him to punish them. I expected him to torture them. To make them beg and plead for forgiveness only to spurn their pleas and torture them more."

Harry groaned and let his head fall back against his chair. "Don't tell me _your _Voldemort's faithful servant."

Moody drew himself up proudly. "Yes, it was I who put your name in the goblet, who made the cup into a portkey, who made it possible for my master to rise again. And it is I who will be rewarded above all others.

"The Dark Lord didn't manage to kill you Potter, and he so wanted to," whispered Moody "Imagine how he will reward me when he finds I have done it for him. I gave you to him, the thing he needed above all to regenerate, and then I killed you for him. I will be honored beyond all other Death Eaters. I will be his dearest, his closest supporter… closer than a son…"

"All right, this is getting weird," Harry held out a hand and, before the man could even move to defend himself, sent a concentrated bolt of magic right at Moody, it hit him square in the chest, threw him into the wall, and knocked him unconscious. "That's better."

Harry tiredly climbed to his feet (that bit of magic hadn't done anything for his already exhausted state) and shuffled over to Moody's side where he proceeded to pat the old man down and retrieve his silver flask, a key ring, and, of course, his wand. The fourth year took a quick whiff at the contents of the flask, and, instead of smelling the sharp stench of spirits, inhaled the musky scent of a potion; it was only when he poured a bit onto the desk that he recognized the muddy texture as Polyjuice.

Sighing, he bound the unconscious man tightly in conjured ropes, then sent a patronus off to Dumbledore. "Let the _adults_ handle this," he muttered, stumbling his way to the infirmary, "I'm going to sleep."

* * *

He didn't get to sleep.

The adults had, for some odd reason, been upset that he'd left imposter moody (who, after the polyjuice wore off, turned out to be Barty Crouch Jr.) alone in his office. Even though the man hadbeen knocked unconscious and trussed up like a hog, they thought him irresponsible for leaving a dangerous and very insane man unchecked while he went to sleep. Harry's rebuttal that he thought them irresponsible for allowing said dangerous and very insane man to roam around the school unchecked as well as interact with students was only met with even more disapproval.

After wasting _at least _a quarter of an hour berating the Slytherin who obviously couldn't care less what he thought, Dumbledore finally got around to asking what had happened to reveal the fake Moody's true identity. Harry, who was feeling far less charitable than he'd been an hour or so previous, of course made the old man work to get his answers.

But, in the long run, none of it mattered as the idiot Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge allowed a dementor to steal Crouch Jr.'s soul, leaving the imposter as nothing more than an empty husk and rendering him useless for any future interrogations.

"By all accounts, he is no loss!" Fudge tried to defend himself when both Dumbledore and McGonagall chewed him out for his stupidity. "Don't think I've forgotten all of the people he murdered and tortured when You-Know-Who was still alive."

"I didn't think you would," Dumbledore said tiredly, "but we needed Barty Crouch."

"Needed him for _what_?" Fudge blustered.

"Answers, it seems young Mr. Crouch was behind many of this year's unfortunate occurrences, some of which he enacted under someone else's orders/"

"And who might that be?"

"Voldemort." The Minister flinched violently at the name, but Dumbledore continued on ruthlessly. "All of the year's events were a part of a larger plan to restore Voldemort to full strength, and that plan succeeded. Voldemort has returned."

"And on what grounds do you base this outrageous assumption?"

"I base them on young Harry here."

It took all of Harry's willpower to refrain from rolling his eyes. Yeah, because that would work. Fudge obviously wasn't about to believe Voldemort was back, the Minister of Magic was obsessed with _remaining _the Minister of Magic, and if that meant keeping thousands of people in the dark about Voldemort's return, condemning them to various painful and humiliating deaths, then so be it.

The portly man snorted and, as if to prove Harry's thoughts correct, said, "I'm sorry but this is preposterous. You-Know-Who has not returned, I'm sure the tremendous stress the tournament has been putting on Mr. Potter has simply been getting to him."

"Are you suggesting that I _hallucinated _Voldemort's return?" Harry asked quietly.

Fudge seemed to realize the danger he had just put himself in, but had no idea how to fix his mistake. "I…well no-that is to say-"

"From what I see you have two choices, Minister," Harry said, calmly cutting off the older man.  
"You can stick your head right back in the sand and pretend the only things you have to worry about are the upcoming elections, or you can, for once, buck up, prove yourself worthy of the title Minister of Magic, and begin preparing for a second war with Voldemort, because it _will _happen.

"But if, for some outlandish reason, you decide to go with the former I hope that when the blood of thousands are on _your _hands and you realize the true gravity of your error you are able to live with your mistake."

Fudge gulped heavily watching Harry with large frightened eyes, and then he turned and hurried out of the infirmary. He hadn't said anything, but then again he hadn't needed to, everything Harry needed to know was showcased clear as day in the man's eyes, he had made his choice.

Harry was going to war, but not with Voldemort.


	10. Chapter Ten

_Composed of a mass of soft, springy tendrils and vines that possess some sense of touch, Devil's Snare uses its creepers and tendrils to ensnare anyone who touches it…_

Harry shifted in his uncomfortable wooden chair, then stuck his quill in the ink pot and continued writing.

_ The harder a person struggles against Devil's Snare, the faster and tighter it binds them, if they relax, it will not kill them as quickly. _

_Devil's Snare prefers a dark, damp environment and shrinks away from fire, so a well-placed flame spell will drive it away from its victims. However, Devil's Snare is most notorious for-_

"Harry?"

The tentative call startled the teenager from his homework and to his aunt who was hovering in his doorway. "Yes?"

Petunia shifted uncomfortably under her nephew's inscrutable gaze. "We're going out to dinner."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Is that an invitation, Aunt?" A small smile quirked his lips when he noted the tension that suddenly tightened Petunia's shoulders. "Although I appreciate the offer, I'm afraid I can't, I've got a bit more work to do," he gestured to the books and parchments littering his desk.

Immediately the blonde woman relaxed. "If you're sure. We'll be back in a few hours, there's some leftover roast in the fridge if you get hungry."

"All right."

"All right," Petunia lingered in the doorway for a bit longer, but after several long seconds of silence she took the hint and left.

With her gone, Harry was able to continue working on his homework in peace, but he found himself unable to concentrate as the Dursley's bustled around downstairs, preparing to leave. What was taking them so long? There were only three of them, and he figured the Dursley men would be moving faster than ever if it meant getting to food quicker.

As the minutes dragged on, Harry felt himself growing more and more impatient, but he forced himself to remain in his seat and write out another three paragraphs on Devil's Snare and its uses in different potions, until finally, _finally, _the Dursley's all piled into the car to head off to some poor restaurant that would, in all likeliness, not be prepared for the appetites of both Dudley and Vernon. They'd empty their stock before they could even hope to satisfy them.

Harry made himself wait another five minutes before rising from his seat at his rickety desk and crossing the hall to the bathroom. It had only been a week since his return from his fourth year at Hogwarts (his worst to date) and he'd been impatiently waiting for a chance to be alone since. He had something he'd been desperate to try since the third task, but didn't dare attempt to do it at Hogwarts lest he be caught by a student or teacher. Today was the first time he'd been truly alone in a long time and he wasn't going to waste it.

Quickly, Harry stripped down to his pants and stared at himself in the large mirror. A large part of him was scared to go through with what he was about to do, but another part of him, a _very small_ part, was kind of excited.

Before he could talk himself out of going through with this, Harry twisted the tap on the sink as cold as it could go and allowed it to run for a few seconds. What he had done in the graveyard had been with a wand, but because of the foolish underage magic laws he would have to do his experiment wandlessly, using the tap just made things a bit easier.

A sharp _crack_ echoed throughout the bathroom as Harry easily snapped the faucet, sending a geyser of water spraying in wide arcs to the tile. Harry allowed the water to thoroughly drench him as he focused on his task. _Ice, _he thought, visualizing a vast frozen tundra. _Snow. Cold._

The effects of his magic were gradual, barely even noticeable for a while. First the air grew colder, so cold Harry could see his breath misting in front of his face with each exhalation, the temperature steadily dropped and Harry felt the invigorating effects of the cold taking over. The water spewing from the faucet froze, falling to the ground with a musical tinkling sound. As the temperature in the bathroom reached subarctic and all warmth was leached from his body, he waited. But even after the floor had been carpeted in a thick layer of snow and the walls had been coated in ice, his skin remained the same pale shade it had been all of his life.

When it was confirmed that his current approach wasn't working, Harry moved on to Plan B. A plan he was still pretty leery about. If things went right all he would have to worry about was a warning from the Ministry for the use of underage magic, if things went wrong...well then Harry would wind up with a most likely permanent disability. But the chances of the latter were slim.

Hopefully.

Harry retrieved his wand from his discarded trousers and, after mentally preparing himself for his actions and whatever consequences they may warrant, pointed his wand at his hand and muttered, "_Glacius."_

Immediately, a strong torrent of ice shot from the tip of his wand, but instead of allowing the ice to harden and engulf his hand as it was supposed to, Harry absorbed the icy magic and forced it to flow directly into his hands. It didn't even take a ten seconds before the change he'd been both dreading and anticipating slowly crept up his hand and over the rest of his body.

Blue slowly inched its way from his fingertips, up his arm, down his chest, and across his face until he was blue from head to toe, his normally green irises were blood red, even brighter than Voldemort's, and odd half circles marked his forehead and the center of his chest as if they'd been carved into his skin.

The fourteen year old observed his odd, and truthfully somewhat frightening, appearance in the frosted mirror and couldn't help but think the question Voldemort had asked him all those nights ago.

_What _was_ he?_

* * *

It took very little effort to repair the damage the freezing temperatures had done to the Dursley's bathroom, all it took was a few waves of his hand and the ice was gone and the warped tiles and wallpaper were pristine once again. However, it took five nerve racking minutes and a shower in lukewarm water (any warmer and it was almost painful) to return his skin and eyes to normal, and another ten to calm his jittering nerves. When his hands had finally stopped trembling, Harry left the bathroom, crossed the hall to his bedroom, and collapsed onto his bed.

"Well, I know you're no longer a child and thus are too old to give me the flying hugs you used to, but I must say I expected a warmer hello than this."

At the familiar voice Harry was out of bed in a flash and in his father's arms. He hadn't seen him since the night of the third task several weeks ago; that night Loki had been furious with Dumbledore, with Fudge, with _Voldemort_, but especially with himself. He blamed himself for the injuries Harry had sustained in the graveyard, believing that if he hadn't been paying so much attention to his brother he would have noticed the danger Harry was in sooner. But buried beneath the anger had been something even worse. Fear. Because he knew that if he had been even a second later in transporting Harry from the graveyard, for it had been him that had done it, his son would be dead.

It had taken Harry the better part of an hour to calm his father down, but even then Loki had been so agitated he added a plethora of spells to the ones that had been on Harry since birth, one that included a ward to alert him when an Unforgivable was being used on Harry. It wouldn't help much in the face of a Killing Curse, but it would do a world of good when being put under the Cruciatus or an Imperius.

"It seems I must go back on my previous assumptions, apparently you _aren't _too old for flying hugs."

Harry burrowed himself deeper in his father's arms, the horror that came with Voldemort's return added with the stress of his odd reaction to subzero temperatures was weighing down on him, being held in his father's arms made things better, if only for a while.

"I'll never be too old," he muttered.

Loki seemed to pick up on Harry's sombre mood and pulled away to study his face. "Are you all right, little trickster?"

"I…" Harry hesitated, unsure whether to tell Loki about his odd form, the man had enough things to worry about already. "I'll let you know when I find out," he finally settled for.

Loki seemed displeased by the noncommittal answer, but let it be for the time being. "How have the mortals been treating you?"

"Pretty well, all things considered," Harry shrugged. "Dudley's still too scared to look at me, let alone lay a hand on me, he's lost a bit of street cred with his friends because he refuses to start anything. Vernon needs a bit of reminding every now and then, but Petunia's been a gem, she's called me down for dinner every night, informed me when they were going out, and she hasn't attempted to hit me with a frying pan in _years_."

Loki's shoulders tensed, but he nodded in satisfaction. "Good, those mortals need to know their place."

"Which, of course, is beneath me," Harry said faux arrogantly.

"Precisely," Loki laughed, "I have taught you well, little trickster." He looked at Harry sadly. "Well, perhaps not so little anymore."

"Aw, don't do that." Harry sighed laying his head on Loki's shoulder. "I'm still plenty young,"

"In Asgardian years you are still just a babe, but here…you're almost an adult. As old as I am!"

"Whoa, slow down now! I'm nowhere near as old as you are. You're ancient."

Loki sniffed in mock offense. "I would hardly call myself _ancient, _I am at the prime of my youth. Your grandfather, on the other hand…"

"Is older than dirt." Harry agreed. "But what about Grandmother?"

"She is just as old, but she does very well to assure that it does not show. Asgardian women are quite vain when it comes to their appearances. As is your Uncle Thor."

"I would be too if I had such luscious blonde locks."

"Please," Loki scoffed. "Do not insult the dark hair I have gifted you, it's far better than _blonde_," he spat the word as if it was a curse. "Besides, it makes you look mysterious."

"Mysterious?" Harry laughed. "I suppose that isn't a horrible thing to be."

"Of course it isn't. Why, if I wasn't dark haired, you wouldn't be here right now, your mother liked her men, tall, dark haired, and mysterious."

"Oh Merlin, spare me," Harry cried, slapping his hands over his ears. "That's too much information."

"But it's true" Loki protested. "She told me on many-"

"If you love me at all, you won't finish that sentence."

Loki hesitated long enough for Harry to almost feel offended. "Very well, I'll spare you the details of your conception."

"_Thank you_."

Loki laughed. "My pleasure. Now tell me, what plans do you have for this summer? I hope you don't intend on staying _here_ for the next two months."

"No, Dumbledore was _gracious_ enough to give me permission to stay with Sirius and Remus this summer, wherever that is. From what I can tell from the vague letters they've sent me so far, Ron and Hermione are already there, Neville will be showing up a few days after I will, but Blaise and Draco haven't said anything about going."

"Good, when will you be leaving this despicable place?"

"Next week. Apparently I've got an entire guard coming to pick me up. Dumbledore handpicked them himself."

"How kind of him," Loki drawled sarcastically. "I don't like this headmaster of yours, he seems far too controlling for my liking."

"He is," Harry agreed. "But I wouldn't be worried about him, he poses a mild threat simply because he holds a few positions of power and has a handful of ardent supporters, but nothing more."

"Regardless, be sure that you are careful around him, he's the type willing to do anything for his own skewed definition of the _greater good_."

* * *

_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

"Destroy it." Harry looked up from the little square of parchment in his hand to the grizzled ex-Auror who'd been impersonated by a now soulless Death Eater all of last year.

There was a soft _fwoosh_ and the parchment in his hand burst into flames. The adults gathered behind Harry in the deserted courtyard of Grimmauld Place leapt back with small yelps of surprise, but Harry didn't move, allowing the flame to burn dangerously close to his hand despite the discomfort the heat wrought, before releasing it and watching as the flames puttered out on the ground and the ashes of the destroyed parchment drifted away in the breeze.

"Wandless magic?" a pink haired witch who'd identified herself as Nymphadora "Call Me Tonks" asked impressed.

"Just a bit," Harry shrugged distractedly as he watched a townhouse appear literally from nowhere. "Fidelius Charm," he muttered. "Clever."

"Dumbledore put it up," Tonks supplied helpfully.

"Well, let's hope this one works better than the last."

Remus, who Harry had been delighted to see was part of his guard, shot him a stern look before reaching out to tap his wand on the shabby door. There were several loud clicks as what had to be at least a dozen locks unlatched, the rattle of a chain being disengaged, then the door swung open and the group hurried into a dark, musty entrance hall.

"Stay still everyone," Moody said, as the door closed behind him and plunged the room into complete darkness. "I'll get a bit of light in here."

As the light from his wand flooded the dusty hall, Mrs. Weasley rounded the corner and immediately swept Harry up into a hug. "Oh, Harry dear, it's lovely to see you!" she gushed happily. "You're looking lovely, dear. How has your summer been so far?"

"Wonderful, thank you, Mrs. Weasley. And yours?"

"Oh, just fine." Mrs. Weasley released him and patted him fondly on the cheek. "You must be hungry after that long trip here, but I'm afraid you'll have to wait just a while longer for dinner."

"Is there a meeting going on?" Harry asked curiously as his guard disappeared through the door at the end of the hall.

"There is, but we shouldn't be much longer," Mrs. Weasley said. "You can catch up with Ron and Hermione while you wait, they're already upstairs. They're two floors up through the first door on the right. I'll give a shout when you can come down."

Mrs. Weasley gave him one last pat on the cheek before hurrying back to the kitchen, leaving Harry to traverse the dark halls alone. When he entered the guest room Mrs. Weasley had described, he was immediately greeted by a loud shriek before being tackled by an overexcited Hermione.

"Harry! Ron, he's here, Harry's here! We didn't hear you arrive! Oh, how are you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless but we couldn't tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't, oh, we've got so much to tell you, and you've got things to tell us no doubt. How is your family? Was everything all right? Did you tell them about last-"

"Let him breathe, Hermione," Ron laughed, pulling the bushy haired Ravenclaw off of their friend. "Hey, mate, how's your summer been?"

"Boring," Harry shrugged. "Especially considering three out of my five friends apparently didn't seem capable of carrying a proper conversation."

Both Ron and Hermione winced. "We're sorry, Harry," Hermione said, "but Dumbledore thought it was best we didn't say much via owl post."

"And when did Dumbledore have a say on what you could and couldn't say to me?"

"Since we started staying in the Order headquarters."

Harry snorted derisively. "You'd reckon the Order Headquarters would be safe enough for me to live in."

"It is, but I think Dumbledore thought you were safest with muggles," Ron said.

Harry couldn't help but scoff at the ridiculous notion. "Yes, because remaining in a shoddily warded house with three magic fearing muggles was a sure fire way to keep me safe."

"He had the Order watching you."

Harry had heard about the Order of the Phoenix from accounts on the first war with Voldemort; while they were good at holding back Death Eaters, they were practically useless against the Dark Lord himself. "What's one Order member going to do against Voldemort?" he asked, ignoring his friends' shudders. "If he decides to attack the Dursley's there's not much they could do."

"They could alert the others."

"And have a full scale magical battle in the middle of muggle suburbia?" Harry snorted again. "Because that would go over _so well_ with the Ministry."

Ron looked down at his hands and Hermione turned a dark red. "We're really sorry, Harry," she muttered. "We shouldn't have kept you in the dark."

"Damn right you shouldn't have," the dark haired teen said, flopping down on the bed closest to him.

"Can you forgive our stupidity?"

There was a moment of silence, then Harry sighed and shot his friends a weary smile. "Of course I can. Though I won't be near as easy on you the next time you blindly follow Dumbledore's orders."

"It won't happen again," Hermione said earnestly.

With apologies out of the way, the three friends settled down to talk about the things they'd got up to over the summer, they were soon joined by the Weasley twins and Ginny, who still blushed a soft pink whenever Harry addressed her in the conversation.

The fairly peaceful atmosphere was shattered, however, by a tremendous crash from the bottom floor, followed by the sudden loud screeching of a very angry, foul mouthed woman.

The teens hurried down the stairs to see the cause of the commotion and found Tonks sprawled out on the ground beside a fallen umbrella stand that looked disturbingly like a large, hairy leg, and a portrait of a horribly ugly woman framed by the long black curtains Harry had become all too familiar with the horrible Walburga Black the previous summer; he, Sirius, and Remus had done just about everything in their power to either remove her from the wall or destroy the portrait, but whatever spells that were preserving her were still holding fast.

It took Sirius, Remus, and Mr. Weasley to wrench her curtains shut and restore some semblance of order in the house. The moment that was through, Sirius turned to Harry with a tired smile on his face and opened his arms for a hug. "Sorry about that, old bat just doesn't know when to quit."

"I'd hoped you'd have found some way to get rid of her before I returned," Harry said. "Although, I should have known she wouldn't be giving in so easy. Now, what's this I hear about you letting Dumbledore use Grimmauld Place as the Order's headquarters? He deserves no favors from you after all that he's done."

"Yeah, I'm not exactly Dumbledore's biggest fan, but I thought it was a good idea at the time and I still do," Sirius shrugged. "It's easier to keep an eye on everything he's done when he's conducting it under my roof. Keep your friends close and whatnot."

Harry nodded in reluctant agreement and allowed Sirius to steer him to the kitchen where he introduced him to one of the newer members of the Order, Mundungus Fletcher.

Harry had never met the man officially, but he recognized him as one of the guards who'd been skulking around outside of the Dursleys'. Mrs. Weasley didn't seem to approve of the dumpy man's presence, and after being formally introduced he understood why; the man was a crook and a drunk. But he had his purposes for the Order, so Harry said nothing against him, simply allowing him to discuss dubious dealing with Fred and George on the other end of the table.

Other than Mrs. Weasleys disgruntlement at Mundungus' presence, dinner was a calm affair, especially considering the amount of people present; Tonks kept the teens entertained by constantly shifting appearances, while the adults engaged in banal conversation. However, once the meal had ended and the plates were cleared away, the atmosphere grew tense as Sirius and Mrs. Weasley began shooting pointed looks in each other's' directions.

"All right," Mrs. Weasley said, clearing away the empty dished with a wave of her wand, "time for bed."

"Not just yet, Molly," Sirius said interjected. "There's some things I'd like to discuss with Harry, and the others if you'll allow it."

Mrs. Weasley shoulders tensed. "I don't think it's necessary, Sirius," she said stiffly. "They're much too young."

"I beg to differ, but if you want to leave your children in the dark, I have no say in that, Harry on the other hand-"

"It's not down to you to decide what's good for Harry!" Mrs. Weasley snapped sharply. "You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?"

"Which bit?" Sirius drawled sarcastically.

"The bit about not telling Harry more than he _needs to know_."

"Which is _nothing _apparently. Now, I was kind enough to allow you all into _my home_, after all of the wrongs Dumbledore has done me, but I will not allow you to dictate my godson's life. If he wants to know what's going on with Voldemort, then dammit he'll know."

"I think," Remus cut in before things developed into an all out shouting match, "that it's better that Harry gets the facts, not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture, from us, rather than a garbled version from others."

"Well," said Mrs. Weasley, breathing deeply and looking around the table for support that did not come, "I can see I'm going to be overruled. I'll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who has Harry's best interests at heart -"

"He's not your son," Sirius interrupted quietly.

"He's as good as," said Mrs. Weasley fiercely. "Who else has he got?"

"He's got me!"

"Yes," said Mrs. Weasley, her lip curling, "the thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him while you've been locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it?"

"And whose fault is that?" Sirius shouted rising to his feet. "I was an innocent man, but not one of you, my friends and allies, had enough faith in me to believe that! None of you took even a second to sit back and think that James and Lily were my _best friends_, that Harry was like a _son_ to me; I would have _never_ betrayed them to Voldemort. But you all believed in Dumbledore's false assumptions, no doubt because I hailed from a dark family, and because of that I, an innocent man, rotted in Azkaban for _thirteen years_. You do not have the right to use my imprisonment against me."

The silence that followed was heavy with the guilt from the older members.

"Sirius, I-"

"I think Harry should be allowed a say in this," Sirius said quietly, sinking back in his chair.

"I want to know what's been going on," Harry responded after a second's hesitation.

"Fine," Mrs. Weasley said tremulously. "If that's what you want who am I to say otherwise?" she attempted to kick the other children out, but she didn't seem to have much fight left in her as, after only a few minutes, she finally conceded in allowing everyone but Ginny to remain and listen.

"I'm sure you've got a lot of questions regarding what's been happening since last June," Sirius said to Harry, he was still a bit subdued but he was quickly recovering, "so we'll just start with you."

"I've been reading the Prophet cover to cover and keeping a close eye on the muggle news for any suspicious deaths, but I've come up with nothing," Harry said. "Voldemort has been inactive since his return. Why?"

"Because you messed up his return," Remus explained. "You weren't supposed to survive, let alone put up the fight you did, but you did and Dumbledore was informed of his return within hours of the event, taking away the other side's element of surprise. Dumbledore was able to gather the Order and we've been preparing ever since."

"But he's been preparing as well?"

"Yes," Mr. Weasley nodded. "In the last war he had an army of skilled wizards and witches, we believe he's biding his time, gathering followers and strength. The Ministry's refusal to acknowledge his return is only helping him."

"While the Ministry insists there is nothing to fear from Voldemort it's hard to convince people he's back, especially as they really don't want to believe it in the first place," Remus added. "What's more, the Ministry's leaning heavily on the Daily Prophet not to report any of what they're calling Dumbledore's rumor-mongering, so most of the wizarding community are completely unaware any things happened, and that makes them easy targets for the Death Eaters if they're using the Imperius Curse."

"Has Dumbledore been trying to spread the word about Voldemort's return?" Harry asked. "He's known as the most powerful wizard since Merlin." The sarcasm in his voice was almost tangible "That's got to count for something."

"They're trying to discredit him," Remus said. "Didn't you see the Daily Prophet last week? They reported that he'd been voted out of the Chairmanship of the International Confederation of Wizards because he's getting old and losing his grip, but it's not true, he was voted out by Ministry wizards after he made a speech announcing Voldemort's return. They've demoted him from Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot and they're talking about taking away his Order of Merlin, First Class too."

"I read about that, and their not so subtle digs at me as well."

"Yeah, but that's the thing," Sirius said, suddenly looking curious. "They've been outright slandering Dumbledore on the Ministry's orders, but all I've seen on you, the one who first claimed Voldemort was back, was a few cracks at your scar and the wizarding world's hero worship of you. Why do you think that is?"

Harry winced. "Ah, that's my fault," he said guiltily, "I may or may not have threatened the Minister the last time I saw him."

"You _what_?"

"Well maybe not threatened him, but I did say a few things that made him look as if he was two seconds away from pissing himself."

"What did you say?" Sirius asked.

Harry recounted the short conversation he and the Minister had held in the hospital wing that night almost a month ago, and took in his companions' varying expressions of disbelief in amusement.

"You've got quite a pair on you to talk to the _Minister of Magic _like that."

"I like to think so," Harry said proudly "What else is Voldemort doing, besides gathering followers?"

Remus and Sirius exchanged looks. "He's looking for something," Sirius said slowly. "Something he didn't have last time, a weapon."

"A weapon? What sort of weapon?"

"That's enough." Mrs. Weasley said sharply "They've heard enough. It's time for bed. All of you."

The teens attempted to protest, but they knew a lost cause when they saw one, so mournfully trooped upstairs. But before he left Harry, who still felt somewhat bad for the downtrodden look on Mrs. Weasley's face, gave the woman a kiss on the cheek and his most innocent smile. "I'm sorry for upsetting you, Mrs. Weasley," he said softly, "I just didn't want to be left in the dark anymore. I hate knowing the people I love are constantly putting themselves in danger while I sit back and do nothing."

Mrs. Weasley sniffed tearfully and put a gentle hand on Harry's cheek. "Don't apologize, dear, I just worry over you. But perhaps keeping you in the dark isn't the best way to go about things."

"I wholeheartedly agree."

The Weasley matriarch laughed shakily and pulled him into a quick but fiercely affectionate hug, then sent him off to bed.

As he hurried up the stairs, the Weasley twins, who had hung back after Ron and Hermione's departure looked at Harry in awe.

"You sneaky little Slytherin, you," one of them muttered.

Harry took that as a compliment.

* * *

"Mum says get up, your breakfast is in the kitchen and then she needs you in the drawing room, there are loads more Doxys than she thought and she's found a nest of dead Puffskeins under the sofa."

That one statement pretty much summed up Harry's entire day. After a quick breakfast, he, Ron, the twins, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley entered the drawing room, armed with large spray bottles filled with black Doxycide. The task of ridding the curtains of the doxies wasn't horribly strenuous, but it was nowhere near fun having to simultaneously dodge and spray at the little buggers.

It took most of the morning to rid the curtains of the doxies, by the time they were finished everyone was tired and ready for a break. Mrs. Weasley left once the task was completed to whip up a quick lunch.

The teens were given some entertainment when, not long after her departure, Mrs. Weasley could be heard screaming at who they assumed to Mundungus Fletcher for bringing in a batch of stolen cauldrons. Though they were interrupted by the arrival of the Black family's mad house elf, Kreacher. Sirius kicked the elf out of the room after listening to his slurs for several minutes, but the house elf returned when they began clearing out the cabinets and attempted to sneak away items under his loincloth, only to grumble under his breath mutinously whenever he was caught.

He threw an enormous fit when a heavy golden locket no one could open was taken from him and thrown into the rubbish. Harry curious about its significance and wondering if he could use it to win the house elf's favor, stealthily pocketed it when no one was watching.

* * *

"Filthy mudbloods and blood traitors defiling the house of my mistress, no right, Kreacher says, no right to touch and to take and to destroy precious family heirlooms. Oh, what would Kreacher's mistress say?"

Harry looked up from the cup of coffee he was blearily nursing, it was early in the morning, the sun had yet to rise, so he'd assumed that he'd have at least a few hours before the house awoke and chaos reigned. Unfortunately, that was not to be. "Good morning, Kreacher," he murmured, taking a large gulp of coffee. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Kreacher did not see the boy sitting at my mistresses table, sitting as if he belonged, as if he deserved to be there. But he does not belong, no he does not."

"My morning's been fine so far, thank you for asking."

"The halfling is speaking to Kreacher as if her were an _equal_," Kreacher muttered in disgust. "Oh, the shame."

Suddenly, Harry was wide awake. "Halfling?" he asked "Why do you call me that?"

"The halfling has asked Kreacher a question. What should Kreacher do?"

"You could answer."

Kreacher glared with watery eyes. "Kreacher calls halfling a halfling because he is a halfling."

"Well thanks," Harry snorted. "That really clears things up."

"Halfling is part human, half not human, not of earth."

"How do you know that?"

"The halfling still speaks to Kreacher, but Kreacher will say no more, Kreacher has had enough of talking to the abomination, the aberration. Unnatural he is."

The green eyed boy observed the elf shrewdly; he was the third to know his true identity, or at least that he was not human, the other two being Ollivander and Luna. He didn't mind the latter two being privy to his secret, but knowing that Kreacher knew made him queasy. The elf was mad and liable to blurt it out at any time to anyone; whether anyone would believe him was still up for debate, but Harry didn't want to take the chance. Harry had to ensure that Kreacher wouldn't breathe a word, and there was only one way he knew how to do that.

"It's a shame what they're doing to all of the Black family heirlooms."

Kreacher continued to mutter nonsensical insults under his breath, but Harry saw his bony shoulders tense.

"I mean many of those things were priceless, and many others were ancient, entrenched in family history."

"Kreacher does not know what the abomination is getting at."

"I could, however, save some of these heirlooms from being destroyed or worse, sold off to mudbloods and blood traitors."

"Kreacher is beginning to see what it is getting at."

"For a price of course."

"Kreacher is listening."

"Cut back on the insults," Harry said, calmly taking a sip of his coffee as he plotted out his demands, "I'm not going to even believe that you have the self-control or even the sanity to stop all together, but no more mudbloods and such, keep it PG. I also think it's high time for you to stop skulking around and _really _start cleaning this house and, if Sirius approves, maybe you should look into redecorating, restore the Black home, and in turn its name, to all of its former glory."

"Is that all the halfling requires?" Kreacher asked.

"There's one more thing. You are to keep my status as a halfling and all that pertains to it to yourself. _No one_ is to know."

Kreacher's eyes narrowed. "The boy is a true Slytherin."

Harry smiled softly and inclined his head to the small elf in thanks. "So, do we have a deal?"

"We do."

"Good, swear it."

This gave the creature pause. "How does Kreacher know the halfling will keep his word?"

"I'll give you something, as a show of good faith." Harry pulled the heavy, gold locket he'd pocketed several days earlier for this exact purpose and dangled it from the tips of his fingers.

Kreacher's eyes grew so wide Harry could see the locket's reflection in the black of his pupils. "Master Regulus' locket," he whispered tremulously. "Kreacher swears as a servant of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black to keep his end of the deal with Harry Potter."

Harry nodded, the elf's word was binding, he wouldn't be able to go back on it. Harry handed Kreacher the locket with no small amount of relief there was something about the necklace that made him uneasy, there was a certain sort of magical aura that was inherently evil, but it was no more than he expected from an heirloom of such a notoriously dark family.

Kreacher placed the locket around his neck with trembling fingers, then, much to the teen's surprise, launched himself at Harry and wrapped his thin arms around his legs. "Harry Potter is a good wizard. Mistress would agree, he is no abomination."

"Thank you, Kreacher." Harry said, awkwardly patting the elf's head, he hadn't expected such a strong reaction. That locket must really be important.

* * *

"What the hell?" Harry looked up from the potions book he was reading at the kitchen table to where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Remus, and Sirius were standing in the doorway looking around in disbelief.

"Good morning," he said mildly.

"What in the world happened to the kitchen?" Remus asked.

Harry glanced halfheartedly around the kitchen; it was the first place Kreacher had cleaned and he had to say, he'd done a marvelous job at it, the room was almost unrecognizable in its cleanliness. Every surface now shone, copper pots and pans had been burnished to a rosy glow, and the wooden tabletop had been scrubbed until it gleamed, there was no sign of the previous mold infestation and the whole room smelled of fresh air and pine.

"Did you do this, Harry dear?" Mrs. Weasley beamed.

"No, Kreacher did."

"_Kreacher_?" Sirius spluttered.

"Yes, Kreacher. You know, I was thinking we should redecorate the place, make it more livable for you, Moony, and the Order. I was thinking we could take down this god awful wallpaper and replace it with something lighter, maybe a cream or a nice off white, but then have the floorboards a dark mahogany, it would make a lovely contrast."

"Okay, slow down, pup," Sirius said, shaking his head vigorously. "And back up, you said _Kreacher_ did this?"

"Yup."

"And how did you manage to get him to do more than skulk around muttering obscenities under his breath?" Remus asked curiously.

"Because you don't know how to talk to him," Harry shrugged. "You lot are Gryffindors with a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws thrown into the mix. Slytherins, of which I'm the only one, are the only ones who are clever enough to reason with a mad house elf. But honestly, what else would you expect from the best Hogwarts house?"

"Hold up a second," Sirius said, puffing up indignantly. "Who said Slytherin was the best house?"

"I did, just now."

"Please, don't even try to fool yourself," Sirius tossed his long hair dramatically. "We both know that Gryffindor is and always will be the best."

"Keep telling yourself that," Harry scoffed. "Maybe one day you'll actually believe it."

"All right, children," Mrs. Weasley chided, "enough bickering, sit down and I'll rustle up some breakfast."

* * *

"Hogwarts letters are here!"

Harry rolled from where he'd been reclined on his bed and easily caught the letter tossed to him. He, Ron, and Neville, who had, as promised, arrived only a few days after Harry, settled down on their respective beds and opened their letters.

"Only two new books this year. Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5 and," Harry wrinkled his nose in disdain, "Defensive Magical Theory."

"Bugger." Neville sighed. "Do you think it would be too much to hope that we have a teacher as good as Professor Lupin was?"

"Probably," Harry nodded solemnly. "Magical theory is a fascinating subject, but Defensive Magical Theory is a horrible read, dead boring. The new professor is bound to be terrible."

"Hosting the soul of You-Know-Who on the back of their head terrible, so full of himself it's a wonder they can fit through the door with such a large ego terrible, or Death Eater in disguise terrible?"

Neville's question went unanswered as Fred and George decided to apparate into the room, waving their assigned reading lists in horror. "Who assigned the Slinkhard book?" Fred asked.

"The new Defense teacher," Harry said. "Neville and I were just trying to figure out how bad we thought they'd be."

"What have you come up with so far?"

"We're not sure," Neville shrugged. "Hey, Ron, what do you think?"

When there was no answer, everyone turned to look at the redhead, who was sitting on his bed looking down at his letter with his mouth wide open.

"What's wrong with him?" Fred muttered as he moved to look over his younger brother's shoulder. It only took a few seconds before his mouth too fell open. "Prefect?"

George leapt forward and snatched the letter from Ron's hand. "No way," he breathed, "Ickle Ronniekins is a _prefect_?"

"Oh, Mum's going to be unbearable." Fred groaned.

As the twins were attempting to recuperate, Hermione burst into the room, red faced and panting. "Which one of you got it?" she asked, holding up her own blue and bronze prefect's badge.

"Ron," Neville grinned.

"_Ron_…you-_you're_ a prefect? I mean…are you sure?"

"Yeah," Ron said resentfully. "Why? Is that so hard to believe?"

"No, I mean…it's just I…"

"You what?"

"Oh, never mind." Hermione pointedly turned to Harry. "Did you get one?"

"Me?" the sable haired teen snorted. "After all the hell I've raised? No, I reckon Draco got it."

"You're not upset, are you?"

Harry shook his head. "Three prefects in the group is enough."

Hermione looked unsure, but the matter was put to rest when Mrs. Weasley entered the room and she was informed of her youngest sons newest status as prefect. The twins had been right, she was unbearable.

* * *

"- COULD HAVE DONE HER A SERIOUS INJURY, YOU IDIOTS -"

"- FILTHY HALF-BREEDS, BESMIRCHING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS -"

"Good morning, Harry."

Harry finished tying his shoelace, then grinned up at his friend. "Good morning, Hermione. What's going on down there?"

"Fred and George were too lazy to carry their trunks so they spelled them to fly themselves to the entrance hall, but they accidentally knocked Ginny down the stairs."

"Ah, is she all right?"

"Fine, Mrs. Weasley patched her up."

"WILL YOU LOT GET DOWN HERE, PLEASE?"

Harry grabbed his and Hermione's trunk and, with a bit of maneuvering, dragged them down the stairs while ignoring the brunette's protests.

"Oh, honestly, Harry, I can carry my own trunk," she huffed. "You're just going to end up hurting yourself."

"Have a little faith, Hermione," he grinned, setting both trunks down in the hall. "See? I made it with no problems. All right, Ginny?" he asked the redhead.

"I'm fine," she smiled.

"MUDBLOODS! SCUM! CREATURES OF DIRT!"

"Merlin, does she ever shut up?" Neville muttered.

"Maybe if I light her on fire…" Harry mused, staring thoughtfully at the screaming portrait as a flame flickered to life in his open palm.

Everyone looked over in surprise, when, with a shriek and a loud _bang_, Lady Black threw the curtains closed.

"Should've done that weeks ago, mate." Ron said, clapping him on his back.

With peace restored, the group of teens departed to the train station with Mrs. Weasley, Remus, and Sirius as their escorts. On the platform, students and parents alike seemed wary of being anywhere near their group whilst Sirius was in their midst, so they were granted a wide berth of space in which to say their goodbyes.

"Take care, Siri," Harry said, enveloping his godfather in a tight hug. "Try not to give Moony anymore gray hairs, but I give you permission to cause Dumbledore all kinds of trouble, try and drive him to tearing out a few clumps from his beard, I know I will."

"Winner takes the other out for dinner?" Sirius challenged. "There's this ice restaurant in Diagon Alley I've been just dying to try."

"Deal," Harry grinned.

Behind them the train whistled a warning, Harry hurried to help Ginny and Hermione load their trunks onto the train, then leapt on behind them "See you all!" he called, just as the train began moving.

"Have a good term," Mrs. Weasley cried, hurrying after the train. "Stay safe, and don't forget to write."

Harry, Hermione, and the Weasley children called back their affirmatives and gave one last wave, before closing the door and heading further into the train.

"Well," said Fred, clapping his hands together, "can't stand around chatting all day, we've got business to discuss with Lee. See you later." He exchanged a meaningful look with Harry, who nodded in understanding, before he and his twin disappeared down the corridor. Last term, after tying for the Triwizard tournament, Cedric and Harry split the winnings and Harry, who already had more than enough gold, gave the five hundred galleons to the twins, who were aspiring to open a joke shop.

"You guys better head to the prefects' carriage." Harry told Ron and Hermione. "Neville and I are going to find a compartment. Would you like to join us, Ginny?"

"Sure."

"All right, we're off, see you two later."

Harry, Neville, and Ginny set off in the opposite direction of the two, peeking into each compartment in hopes of finding Draco and Blaise; they soon found Blaise sharing a compartment with Luna, whose was reading a magazine called the Quibbler upside down.

"Hi, Luna," Harry said, entering the compartment. "Hello, Blaise, I'm assuming from his absence that Draco became prefect."

"Yeah," Blaise nodded. "He wrote me the moment it happened, bragging and rubbing it in my face."

Harry laughed as he settled down in the seat beside Luna. "That sounds like him."

"So how have you two been?" Neville asked. "Have you had good summers?"

"Yes," Luna smiled. "My summer was quite enjoyable."

"Mine was all right, would've been better if I could spend time with _all _of my friends. There's only so much Draco I can stand at one time."

Harry sighed. "I'm sorry, I tried to get permission to have you and Draco come over, but the adults wouldn't have it, and because the location's under the Fidelius I couldn't just sneak you in."

"It's fine, I know it wasn't your fault. Dumbledore would never let two potentially dark Slytherins into his precious headquarters, despite all his preaching on the equality and goodness of all houses. He's just as prejudiced as the next bastard."

"I'm pretty sure the only reason he allowed me to come was because I'm his _precious weapon_." Harry agreed.

"Dumbledore's head is full of wrackspurts," Luna said. "They're making him quite foolish."

"I couldn't agree with you more, Luna dear," Harry smiled, throwing an arm around her shoulder. "So what are you reading?"

"The Quibbler, Daddy's editor of it."

"Is it any good?"

The blonde's eyes seemed to light up. "Oh yes, it's fantastic."

"Do you mind if I read it with you?"

Luna snuggled herself into Harry's side and moved the magazine so he could read it easier.

The next hour passed with Neville, Ginny, and Blaise conversing quietly with each other, while Harry and Luna read a fascinating article on how Minister Fudge was poisoning goblins, throwing them off of building, and cooking them into pies. When through with that, they moved onto an article accusing the Tutshill Tornados of winning the Quidditch League by a combination of blackmail, illegal broom-tampering and torture, as well as a report on ancient runes that claimed if you turned the runes on their heads they revealed a spell to make your ears turn into kumquats. Both Harry and Luna were disappointed when their ears didn't turn into kumquats or any other miniature citrus fruits.

"Do you think we did it wrong?" Harry asked, flipping the magazine upright before turning it upside down again.

"Perhaps the magazine is supposed to remain upright and _we're _supposed to stand on our heads." Luna suggested.

"Luna, you're a genius."

Harry stood from his seat and flipped into a headstand "All right, pass me the magazine now, and make sure it's upright."

Just as Luna handed him the Quibbler, the door to the compartment slid open and Ron, Draco, and Hermione, who were just about to enter, stopped dead at the odd sight.

"What in the world are you doing, Potter?" Draco asked.

"I'm trying to turn my ears into kumquats."

The blonde Slytherin blinked once, then shook his head and moved to sit down. "Why do I even bother asking?"

"For an answer, I suspect," Luna responded.

"Yes, of course, thank you, Lovegood."

"You're welcome."

"Did it work?" Harry asked, wobbling a bit as he attempted to remain balanced while holding the magazine.

Luna crouched down and carefully inspected each of his ears. "No, they're still ears."

"How disappointing," the dark haired teen flipped back onto his feet, then settled back down in his seat. "So, how was the meeting?"

"It was very good, quite informative," Hermione said eagerly. "There are two fifth year prefects for each house. Gryffindor has Ron, obviously, and Fay Dunbar, Ravenclaw is me and Anthony Goldstein, Hufflepuff is Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott, and Slytherin is Draco and Pansy Parkinson."

"The cow wouldn't leave me alone the entire meeting," Draco scowled.

Ron chuckled softly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think she was glued to his side."

Draco sighed woefully. "My beauty is often a curse."

"I have no idea what to say to that."

"Just accept it as fact and move on."

"I think you're very pretty, Draco," Luna said serenely.

"_Pretty?_"

"Yes, your features are quite delicate, like a china doll. May I dress you up?"

"No!" Draco slid as far from Luna and her disturbingly focused gazes as his seat allowed. "Loony you're freaking me out."

"I think you and Harry would make a beautiful couple."

"Wait, what?" Harry snorted. "Me and Draco?"

"Yes," Luna nodded. "You're very handsome, Harry, it's a nice balance to Draco's prettiness."

Harry studied Draco's flushed face in amusement. "Hmm, I see what you mean. But I think his attitude is a bit off putting."

"It is not!" Draco turned a darker shade of pink. "I'm just as beautiful inside as I am out. Anyone would want to date me."

"Okay, this is starting to get weird," Ron muttered.

"Are you sure?" Harry drawled sarcastically, ignoring Ron's comment. "I don't think _I _would, Goyle is more my type of guy."

"Goyle? _Goyle? _You would choose Goyle over me? That witless oath could never hold a candle to me. I am god's gift to all mankind. I am beautiful. I am _perfection_."

"And it's officially weird now."


	11. Chapter Eleven

"… because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognized as errors of judgment. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited."

Harry watched in extreme dislike as the frumpy woman dressed in her god awful, eye wateringly pink cardigan finished the last of her speech and sat down in her seat at the high table, a smug look on her pudgy face. Dumbledore slowly started politely clapping and was soon joined by the teachers and the few students who hadn't dozed off during her speech.

"Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating." Dumbledore said, bowing to her. "Now, as I was saying…"

"Illuminating indeed." Hermione muttered, looking very disgruntled.

"You're not telling me you_ enjoyed _that?" Ron asked incredulously. "I'm pretty sure I dozed off a few minutes in."

"I said illuminating not enjoyable."

"How so?"

"She prattled about a lot," Blaise explained. "But some of the things she said 'progress for progress' sake must be discouraged' and especially 'pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited' revealed the real reason she's here."

"Which is?"

"She's the Ministry's liaison," Hermione hissed through gritted teeth. "She's spying for them, reporting any behavior the Minister may deem as threatening to his position and subtly dealing with it."

"Why would Dumbledore hire her if it's so obvious that that's the only reason she's here?"

"They probably didn't give him much of a choice," Harry said. "Dumbledore has a lot of trouble finding a teacher for Defense because of the curse, the Ministry most likely stepped in and appointed a teacher for him."

"Well at least there's that," Draco said. "The curse will no doubt drive her off by the end of the year, I hope it's because of something horribly gruesome."

* * *

"Good morning," Harry smiled at his friends as he sat down at the Gryffindor table for breakfast the next morning, he received a chorus of mumbled greetings in response. "Everyone sleep all right?"

"As well as could be expected," Neville mumbled, between bites of his bagel. "Bit of tension in the dorm last night."

"Really? What happened?"

"Seamus had a go at you and Dumbledore, said the headmaster was losing his marbles and that you were a crazy, attention seeking prat."

"I was wondering why he's been shooting me odd looks ever since I sat down." Harry looked over to where the Irish Gryffindor was alternating between eating his breakfast and shooting glances at Harry.

"Yeah, his mum's been reading the Daily Prophet, and apparently she's believed every word of it."

Harry's brow furrowed. "But they haven't been saying much about me in the Prophet," he said. "Other than a few snide remarks and digs at my celebrity status."

"Yeah, but they've been saying horrible things about Dumbledore and his claims that Voldemort's back," Hermione said. "But everyone knows that it was you who first announced his return so they just figured that if Dumbledore's crazy then so are you. So with every article that slanders Dumbledore's name, people think of you and it destroys your reputation as well."

Harry snorted and shook his head. "Sheeple."

The group fell into silence as they ate their breakfasts and worked on fully waking up, they only roused from their semi-trances when they made a visit to their house tables to retrieve their schedules.

"What've we got?" Harry asked, after the group had reconvened at the Gryffindor table.

"Nev and I have History of Magic, double Potions and Defense with Slytherin, and Divination." Ron said, glancing carelessly at his schedule.

"Honestly, I don't see why you still take Trelawney's class," Hermione sniffed "It's a bunch of rubbish, you should join in Ancient Runes or maybe us in Arithmancy."

"I think it's a bit late for that," Neville said, pocketing his schedule. "Even if we did have the sudden desire to join either of those classes, which so far we haven't, we'd be starting with the third years, not the fifth."

"That shouldn't stop you! Both Ancient Runes and Arithmancy are fascinating subjects and are sure to help you later on in life, more than Divination anyway."

"We'll be sure to keep that in mind." Neville placated. "Now we best get a move on or we'll be late for class."

* * *

The first day of term began with little excitement, it started off with an hour and a half of History of Magic, followed by a break, then Potions, where, after being lectured about the importance of the OWLs, they brewed the Draught of Living Death. After that was lunch, followed by Ancient Runes; then came the class Harry had been both dreading and anticipating, Defense Against the Dark Arts

"Good afternoon, class!" Umbridge said, disgustingly cheerful as she entered the classroom. She was answered with few mumbled responses, but nothing more. "Tut tut, that won't do at all, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge'. One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

Harry and Blaise exchanged amused glances as they and the rest of the class dutifully responded. "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge."

"There, now." Professor Umbridge smiled sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."

That one sentence seemed to sum up the quality of the class. Umbridge started off the class by informing them that the DADA curriculum had been vastly improved into a "_carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic_", which basically meant that it was a dumbed down, theory only class created by the Ministry to prevent them from becoming threats in the future.

Umbridge had steamrolled over any questions or protests they may have had and had them write down the three course aims of the class, then they were assigned a chapter to read and ordered to remain silent for the rest of the period.

"I think this one trumps all three," Neville whispered to Harry when Umbridge looked particularly busy writing something out at her desk.

"What do you mean?" Harry whispered back.

"Hosting the soul of You-Know-Who on the back of their head terrible, so full of himself it's a wonder they can fit through the door with such a large ego terrible, or Death Eater in disguise terrible. This trumps all three. This is, without a doubt, the worse Defense Against the Dark Arts class I've ever attended."

Harry couldn't hold back his snort of amusement. "Give me psychopaths or Lockhart any day."

Is there something you'd like to share with the class, Mr. Potter?" Professor Umbridge asked, looking up from her desk.

"No, ma'am," Harry smiled sweetly. "Just talking to myself."

"About the book, I hope."

"Oh yes, Professor. I've already read this particular text before, but it's so good it's always worth another read."

Umbridge looked confused for a moment, but then an uncertain smile spread across her face "Yes, it is. Well, don't let me disturb you, get back to reading."

"That was disgusting," Draco murmured the moment Umbridge's attention was diverted.

"But it worked, didn't it?"

* * *

"That was the _worst _Defense class I've ever attended," Hermione scowled, slipping into a spot between Harry and Draco. "And we had _Lockhart _for Merlin's sake."

"And it's our O.W.L. year too," Draco said moodily. "How does she expect us to pass if we haven't practiced a single spell all year?"

"She is under the belief that as long as we pay attention, read that horrible book from cover to cover, and memorize the theory behind the spells, we should have no trouble performing them during the O.W.L.s."

"So the first time we'll be casting the spells is _during _the exams," Neville hissed.

"Exactly."

"Well, that's it, we're screwed."

"Nonsense," Harry said. "If she doesn't want to teach us, we can just teach ourselves. Honestly, how hard could it be?"

"That's a brilliant idea, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "We should start right away, there's not a moment to lose. But where will we practice? We can't very well start shooting off spells in the common rooms."

"We'll figure something out." Harry said. "The castle is enormous, I'm sure we'll be able to find one room we can use to train in."

"All right, I'll leave that to you, I'll start drawing up lesson plans, and research! I'll have to do tons of research to find the spells we'll need to learn and how to perform them. Oh, there's so much for me to do. I need to go to the library!" And with that, she ran off, leaving her friends watching her hasty retreat in amusement.

"Barking, that one is," Ron muttered as he pulled her untouched dinner plate closer to him. "Absolutely mad."

* * *

The Monday of the second week of term had Ron arriving at breakfast in a foul mood, the redhead was scowling fiercely, scaring several first years out of their wits, and treading a bit heavier than necessary. A slightly miffed looking Neville was walking beside him, murmuring what appeared to be consolations to his fellow Gryffindor.

"What's got your knickers in a twist, Weasley?" Draco asked, throwing a curious glance at the fuming teen.

"My brother," Ron snapped. "The prat had the nerve to write to me bad mouthing Harry."

"Seeing as you have a number of brothers, I'm afraid you're going to have to elaborate just a tad."

"Percy."

"Ah," Harry sighed, the rift between Percy and the rest of the Weasley's had taken its toll on the family, but none more so than Mrs. Weasley, "what is it he said?"

"Here," Ron pulled a slightly crumpled paper from his pocket and handed it to Harry, "see for yourself."

Harry, Hermione, Draco, and Blaise gathered closer to each other to read the somewhat lengthy letter as Ron and Neville began piling breakfast onto their plates.

_Dear Ron, _

_I have only just heard (from no less a person than the Minister for Magic himself, who has it from your new teacher, Professor Umbridge) that you have become a Hogwarts prefect. I was most pleasantly surprised when I heard this news and must firstly offer my congratulations. I must admit that I have always been afraid that you would take what we might call the _'_Fred and George_' _route, rather than following in my footsteps, so you can imagine my feelings on hearing you have stopped flouting authority and have decided to shoulder some real responsibility..._

The letter went on to "advise" Ron to keep far away from Harry, because "_continuous fraternization with him could be detrimental to his future_" and that even though Harry may be Dumbledore's favorite now (had Percy not been present when Harry had torn into the headmaster third year?), Dumbledore may not be in power for much longer. Percy also informed Ron that, should he find it difficult to distance himself from Harry because of his erratic and possibly violent behavior, or if he suddenly felt the urge to inform anyone what Harry was getting up to during the day, he should immediately go to Umbridge, who was apparently "_a truly delightful woman_".

"Well," Draco said, leaning back in his seat, "I never thought I'd see the day when a _Weasley_ managed to come off as more pompous and full of shite than my father but," he gestured at the letter, "there it is."

Not even Ron could hold back a snort at that comment.

"He spoke an awful lot about some article in tomorrow's Prophet, was it?" Hermione asked.

"Today's Prophet," Ron said. "He sent that letter to me last night."

"I suppose we'll find out what he was talking about soon enough," the brunette said. "I subscribed to the Daily Prophet, it should be here any minute."

The group didn't have to wait long before the usual flock of owls flew into the hall, depositing letters, parcels, and newspapers all around the hall. When a large barn owl dropped a newspaper in front of Hermione, she eagerly snatched it up and flattened it on the table.

"Oh, well that picture's horrible enough to put me off my breakfast," Blaise muttered.

Plastered across the front page of the popular newspaper was a picture of Umbridge, decked out in her usual pink cardigan and girly black bow, she was smiling that sickening sweet smile of hers and waving at the camera.

"Ministry Seeks Educational Reform," Hermione read out loud. "Dolores Umbridge Appointed First Ever High Inquisitor."

"That doesn't sound good," Neville said moving closer. "What does it mean?"

Hermione's eyes darted across the paper, her expression growing more and more disgusted with every word she read. Finally she threw down the paper, practically spitting in anger. "The High Inquisitor," she snarled, "is the closest thing the Ministry can get to making Umbridge headmistress, without actually doing it. She'll have an unprecedented amount of power, almost as much as Dumbledore, she'll have the power to inspect the other teachers and, if she finds them lacking, dismiss them!"

Blaise looked horrified. "This is going too far!" he exclaimed. "The Ministry is going mad in their attempts to discredit Dumbledore. Slandering him in newspapers and taking away his fancy titles is one thing, but interfering in _Hogwarts_? This is our education we're talking about."

"Fudge made his choice last spring," Harry said, calmly buttering a crumpet. "And now he's doing everything in his power to make sure that his decision is the _right_ decision."

"But it's not!"

The green eyed Slytherin shrugged "And he'll find that out sooner or later. There's absolutely nothing we can do about it except for grin and bear Umbridge's loathsomely boring classes, and learn all that she isn't teaching by our own study. And not just for the O.W.L.s, but for the real world, when Voldemort comes back, we'll need to be ready."

Ron sighed mournfully "I can already tell this is going to be a wonderful year."

* * *

After her appointment as High Inquisitor, Umbridge wasted absolutely no time in proving just how bad of an idea the appointment had been, namely through her classroom inspections. The first professor to be inspected was Trelawney, and, from what Ron and Neville, who had been present during the investigation, related, it hadn't gone too well. Trelawney was clearly nervous and stumbled over any questions Umbridge shot her way, and when she was asked by her colleague to make a prediction for her, the Divination teacher made a complete fool of herself.

Flitwick's inspection that same day went much better despite Umbridge's poorly concealed disdain toward the part-goblin professor. The High Inquisitor had been wildly pleased with Professor Grubbly-Plank's (who had been filling in for Hagrid during the man's mysterious absence) performance. But the most amusing of all the inspections so far, had been McGonagall's, the woman refused to be cowed by Umbridge's shiny new title and treated the woman with icy disdain. It no doubt lost her important points in Umbridge's books, but it was worth it to see the toad-like woman so flustered.

"So I finally finished plotting out the basic outline of our lesson plan, for our individual study," Hermione said happily one Saturday afternoon as she, Ron, Neville, Draco, Blaise, and Harry sat by the lake, enjoying the warm weather before it took a turn for the worse. "I was thinking we should start off with the basics, you know, review everything we did or should have learned from previous years, and then move on to this year's spell curriculum. I was also talking to the older students and most of them have agreed that the O.W.L.s put a lot of focus on protective and counter-jinxes, so we'll definitely have to work on those." The excitable brunette pulled out a worn notebook and thumbed through the pages. "I've created a list of all the spells we'll need to learn, as well as some good research books, and essay topics."

"Wait, essay topics?" Ron interjected. "What do we need those for?"

"This may come as a surprise to you, Ron, but essays usually come with a topic."

"Let me rephrase my question. _Why_ do we need essays?"

"Essays help you get a better grasp on the spells we learn, as well as the theory behind them. We'll need to write at least a few if we want to actually _learn _anything."

"Oh come off it, Hermione," Ron exclaimed. "It's O.W.L. year we already have enough homework as it is, we'll find some other way to learn theory and all that rubbish."

"You're being ridiculous, Ron! A few extra essays wouldn't hurt. Back me up here, Harry!"

"Um…" Draco, Blaise, and Neville collapsed into fits of laughter as Harry struggled to find something to say that would pacify both Ron and Hermione. "Well the way I see it…we should…er…"

Luckily, he was saved from his harrowing dilemma by the very welcome arrival of Ginny and Luna. "Hi, you guys," Ginny said, coming to a nervous stop before the group, she and Luna received a chorus of greeting in response.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?" Harry asked, gesturing for the two girls to join them on the ground.

"Well, we're actually here because we need your help," Ginny said as she and Luna seated themselves on the ground. "We're learning how to summon things in Charms, but Luna and I just can't seem to get the hang of it."

"Whatever object I try to summon only makes it about halfway to me before it stops," Luna explained.

"And my object comes at me so fast I'm afraid it'll run me over."

"And you want our help learning how to cast the spell properly?"

Both girls nodded.

"Okay." Harry conjured a cushion, then banished it several hundred yards away. "Let me see you cast it, Ginny."

"All right." The redhead pulled out her wand and pointed it at cushion. "_Accio Cushion._" Immediately the cushion sped at her with such speed and force she was knocked onto her back.

Harry banished the cushion again. "Now you, Luna."

"_Accio Cushion._" This time, the cushion barely made it half of a meter before it fell pitifully back into the grass.

"All right," Harry said moving closer to the two girls, "you have the incantation and wand movement down, now it's just a matter of control. You're putting too much power behind your spell, Ginny, and, Luna, you're putting too little."

"How do we fix it?"

"It's easy enough to do, you just have to concentrate on your magic, feel the way it flows through you, and when you're about to cast a spell only release the amount you need to make it work, before putting a stopper on the rest."

"You said it was easy," Ginny deadpanned.

"Don't worry," Harry laughed. "It's a lot easier than I make it sound. So here's how you do it…"

For the next hour or so, Harry instructed the two younger students on how to both sense and control their magic. Unfortunately, he was so focused on the lesson he didn't see the contemplative look on Hermione's face that, if he had been looking, would have instilled a strong sense of foreboding in anyone who knew the girl.

* * *

"I've had the most fantastic idea."

Harry spared his grinning friend a lazy glance before looking back down at the book he'd been reading. "You say that as if it isn't a common occurrence."

Hermione paused, uncertain if she should be insulted by Harry's lack of enthusiasm or flattered by his offhand compliment. Eventually she decided it really didn't matter and quickly focused back on the cause of her enthusiasm. "Perhaps, but don't you want to know what it is?"

"Sure, but don't you think you should wait until the others get here?"

Hermione's enthusiasm faltered as she looked around the library and finally realized that only Harry and Blaise were present. "Where are they?"

"Draco went to the owlery to send his parents a letter," Blaise said. "Ron's got Quidditch practice, and Neville's caring for that plant he has. What's it called again?"

"Mimbulus Mimbletonia," Harry muttered, flipping to the next page.

"Darn," Hermione muttered, "I wanted to tell you all at once, I hate repeating myself. Well, I guess we'll have to wait."

"Too bad."

"Well actually," the Ravenclaw amended, "dinner's about to start, if we head down there now we might be able to catch them." She snatched Harry's book from his hand and slammed it shut. "Let's go."

Harry groaned, already resigned to the fact that he wouldn't be getting much reading done tonight. "Fine, let's just go and get this over with."

Sullenly, he packed up his belongings and allowed Hermione to drag him and Blaise down to the entrance hall where they loitered by the staircase as they waited for the rest of their friends to arrive.

Draco was the first to show up, accompanied by Neville who was explaining to him the inner workings of some sort of exotic plant.

"What are you standing around out here for?" the blonde asked when Neville paused to take a breath.

"We were waiting for you guys." Hermione rocked excitedly on the balls of her feet. "Oh, where's Ron? He should be here by now."

"I'm here," Ron said, jogging down the staircase. "What are you lot doing out here? Why aren't you eating?"

"I have an idea I want to share with you all."

"Then why don't you share it with us while we eat? I'm starving."

Ron made to enter the dining hall, but Hermione grabbed his arm and yanked him back. "No! I can't tell you where _she_ might overhear."

"Hermione," Ron groaned, "I just got back from Quidditch practice where Angelina worked us like house-elves, I need to eat."

"How about we head down to the kitchens," Harry suggested. "Hermione can tell us her brilliant idea away from prying ears, and we can eat."

Ron grumbled a bit, but dutifully allowed himself to be led down to the kitchens.

"So what is it you've been so eager to tell us, Granger?" Draco asked, settling down in at the end of the Slytherin table's doppelganger with a plate full of food.

"Well, we've been talking about teaching ourselves everything we should be learning, to prepare ourselves for the O.W.L.'s and life after, but I think it's going to be a bit more difficult than cracking open a book and learning whatever catches our fancy. We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use the spells and correct us if we're going wrong."

"That makes sense," Blaise nodded. "Who then?"

"I was thinking Harry."

"Me?" the boy in question asked. "Why me?"

"Because out of the six of us, I believe you're the most capable of teaching us properly."

"I agree," Neville said. "You're the best in Defense, and with spells at general, and you certainly have the patience to teach them to us."

"I suppose," Harry agreed. "But-"

"No buts, mate." Ron interrupted. "You're the best choice out of all of us, so you'll be teaching."

"It seems as if I'm not getting much of a say in this."

"You're not," Hermione said cheerfully. "Now that that's settled, I think that we should open our tutoring group to anyone who wants to join in. We're not the only ones taking O.W.L.s, others need to be prepared just as much as we do."

"But that makes things so much more difficult," Harry groaned.

"It does, but it'll be worth it, because we won't just be helping students pass their exams, we'll be teaching them how to protect themselves against V-Voldemort and his Death Eater's. These lessons could be the difference between living and dying."

Harry sighed and leaned back in his seat, not even trying to hide the petulant pout on his face. "Well when you put it like _that_…"

"Excellent," Hermione beamed. "Oh, there's so much we need to plan; we'll have to rearrange the curriculum I came up with, to accommodate students from different years, and oh, we'll have to find somewhere to practice, an empty classroom would be our best bet, but I don't see any teachers lining up to let a group of students practice spells in their classrooms."

"Why don't we just ask the house-elves?" Harry asked. "They might know a good place. Excuse me, Nipsy?"

A little elf hurried to Harry's side and looked up at him adoringly. "What can Nipsy do for Mr. Harry Potter?" she asked.

"Well, my friends and I were wondering if you knew of any places we and a few others could practice spells and such without being disturbed."

A contemplative look settled over the elf's pointy features for several long moments, then she beamed happily and began to nod. "Yes, yes, Nipsy knows a place, it is known as the Come and Go Room or the Room of Requirement."

"The Room of Requirement?" Harry repeated. "Why?"

"Because it is a room that a person can only enter when they have real need of it," Nipsy explained. "Sometimes it is there, and sometimes it is not, but when it appears, it is always equipped for the seeker's needs. Nipsy knows Mr. Filch has found extra cleaning materials there when he has run short, sir, and so do the house elves. It is a most amazing room, sir,"

"How many people know about it?"

"Just the house elves and the caretaker Filch."

Harry grinned at the little elf, who was suddenly quivering with happiness. "That sounds perfect. Could you tell me where it is?"

"Of course, Harry Potter, sir. The Come and Go Room is on the seventh floor in the left corridor, right across from the portrait of the odd wizard showing the trolls how to dance." Nipsy gestured with her arms and did an odd little twirl that Harry interpreted as ballerina's twirl. "To get in, Harry Potter must walk past the wall across from the portrait three times while he thinks of exactly what he needs, and it will appear."

Harry turned to his friends, who were listening in astonishment. "Well," he said, "you reckon we should try it?"

"Curfew isn't for another few hours," Hermione said. "We might as well."

Harry managed a quick thank you to Nipsy, before dashing after his friends and up to the seventh floor.

"So what should we ask for?" Ron panted, staring at the blank stretch of wall across from Barnabas the Barmy's portrait.

"Let's just ask for what we need." Harry said. "A place to practice defense." He did as Nipsy instructed and paced past the wall three times, thinking of exactly what he needed as he did, on his third time past the wall, he heard Hermione gasp and stopped to look. A tall polished door stood in the previously blank wall.

"Brilliant," Ron muttered in awe.

Harry reached out to grasp the polished brass handle and pulled the door open. The room behind the door was spacious and lit by strategically placed windows and torches, the walls were lined with bookshelves and, instead of chairs, silk cushions dotted the floor.

"This is perfect!" Hermione exclaimed, looking around in awe "And just look at these books!" she ran a finger along the spines of the large leather-bound tomes "A Compendium of Common Curses and their Counter-Actions, The Dark Arts Outsmarted, Self-Defensive Spellwork. This is wonderful, there's everything we need here!"

"So we're really doing this then?" Draco asked, slowly walking around the room.

"We are," Harry nodded.

The blonde sighed and pulled up a cushion. "Then we better get to planning."

* * *

"Do you think what you and your friends have planned is wise?"

Harry bit his lip and stared off into the tree line, he and Loki were in the little clearing they often frequented in the Forbidden Forest, taking a small break from Harry's combat lessons.

"I like to think it is," Harry finally answered after several long moments of thought. "I know the moment Umbridge catches on to what we're doing she'll make some new rule to try and stop us. I also know that when she does, we won't stop, because what we're planning to do," Harry beamed radiantly at his father, "it's going to save lives. It started off as just a way to pass O.W.L.s, to get by for the rest of the year, and _maybe _to provide others with a way to defend themselves against Death Eaters long enough for help to show up, but last night we started planning and we really got into it, and suddenly it's not just this defense club anymore. We're preparing for war."

Loki felt his chest tighten as he smiled down at his beautiful son. He was no longer a child interested in childish things, although to be fair Harry had _never _been interested in childish things. He was now a young man, almost an adult, and despite whatever protests Harry may attempt to make, his boy was beautiful, the perfect mix of his mother, who he would admit as being striking for a mortal, and himself. And he was powerful, so powerful Loki's blood sang. And now he stood to lose it all, because of one power hungry mortal afraid of death. If anything, _anything_, happened to Haraldr nothing would contain his rage.

The god took a deep breath to steady his emotions, then reached out to clasp his son's shoulder. "There is no one better suited to prepare these children than you."

* * *

"So where are we meeting up with our potential students?" Harry asked that Saturday as he and his friends passed through the school gates on their first Hogsmeade visit of the year.

"The Hogs Head," Hermione responded. "That little pub we always pass on our way to the Three Broomsticks."

"Why there?" Ron asked. "Why not the Three Broomsticks?"

"Because the Three Broomsticks is too crowded and loud, it's not exactly conducive for an important meeting such as ours."

"And the Hogs Head is?" Draco snorted.

"It's not ideal," Hermione defended, "but it's the best I could come up with on such short notice."

"Don't listen to him," Blaise said, patting her shoulder lightly. "We all know Draco likes to whine."

"I do not," the blonde cried indignantly. "I express my disdain with more dignity and poise than you plebeians could ever even hope to match."

"Of course, Draco," Harry drawled. "Whatever you say."

The laughing teenagers weaved through the crowded Hogsmeade streets and made their way to the slightly less packed area where the Hogs Head resided.

The tiny pub was nothing like the bright, cheerful, and _clean_ Three Broomsticks they were used to; it was small and cramped, horribly dirty, and reeked of, for some odd reason, goats. The large bay windows were not capable of doing their jobs properly as they were caked with several months' worth of dirt, so the room was lit by stubby little candles that let off an eerie light. Among the few patrons in the dirty pub was a man, or at least it was assumed he was a man, wrapped from head to toe in dirty bandages, though that didn't stop him from drinking multiple glasses of what Harry surmised to be Firewhiskey through a slit in his bandages, there were also two hooded men sitting at a table beside the window, and a short stout woman in a dark veil that reached her toes.

"Are you sure that we're allowed to do this?" Ron muttered nervously.

"Yes," Hermione snapped, "I've double and triple checked the school rules. We're not out of bounds, I specifically asked Professor Flitwick whether students were allowed to come in the Hog's Head, and he said yes, but he advised me strongly to bring our own glasses. And I've looked up everything I can think of about study groups and homework groups and they're definitely allowed. I just don't think it's a good idea if we parade what we're doing."

"Especially considering the fact that when it's all said and done, homework is not what we'll be doing," Neville murmured under his breath.

As the group moved further into the pub, the barman appeared from the back, he was tall, and looked far too much like Albus Dumbledore to be a coincidence.

"What?" he grunted.

"Six butterbeers, please." Harry said.

The Dumbledore look alike reached under the counter and, one by one, slammed six bottles of butterbeer onto the bar. "Twelve sickles."

Harry paid the required amount then, after collecting their drinks, moved to a table farthest from the other patrons.

"So, how many people did you manage to rally up, Hermione?" Harry asked, prying the cap from his bottle and taking a swig from his drink.

"Oh, just a few," the girl said, nervously fiddling with her bottle cap. "I didn't have the guts to approach any of the Slytherins, but I spread the word to most of the other houses and, you know, people seemed interested."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the girl's poor attempt at avoiding answering the question. "How many are a few?"

"Um…only a couple dozen."

"A couple _dozen_."

"Maybe more," Hermione amended weakly.

"Bloody hell, Hermione!" Harry rubbed his face wearily. "When you said a small group of people to tutor I thought you meant a _small group_. Not several dozen."

"Well I'm sorry a lot of people were interested," she huffed. "I only _told _a few people, mostly students in fourth, fifth, and sixth, but then they started telling their friends and suddenly everyone wanted to join."

"Look on the bright side," Blaise said. "It'll only help further our plans."

"I suppose," Harry sighed, "I just hope we're all up to the challenge, adding this to an already busy year, our O.W.L. year no less, it's going to take a lot of energy. We're bound to fall behind in our studies."

"Some things are more important than school." Suddenly all of her friends were looking at her, wide eyed in astonishment. She turned dark red at the sudden attention trained on her. "What?"

"Did you just say there are things more important than _school_?" Ron asked "Or were my ears deceiving me?"

"Well, there are!" Hermione exclaimed. "What good will graduating from Hogwarts top of my class do if Vol-Voldemort's taken over? All of the spells and knowledge I've stuffed my mind with will be of little good if I'm dead by the hand of a Death Eater. Protecting myself and the people I love is more important than school any day."

Harry, Draco, Neville, Blaise, and Draco stared at Hermione with something akin to awe. "You know," Draco finally said, "I think Granger may have a point. I'm not saying we should ignore our studies altogether, but maybe cut back a bit and focus on things that are more important. Merlin knows that if we do it won't be detrimental to our O.W.L. scores, these two," he gestured to Hermione and Harry, "have been working us like house elves all year."

"Here here!" Ron exclaimed.

"Oh hush, Ron," Hermione said, although her attempted chastisement was ruined by her pink cheeks and the small smile on her face. "We all know the reason you're in agreement is because it means less time working on homework."

"If it was could you really blame me?"

Before she could respond, the pub was suddenly flooded with light when the door opened and students began filing in. Harry watched as Ginny and Luna entered and slid in the booth beside him, they were soon followed by Fred and George, and their friend Lee Jordan, then Parvati and Padma Patil with Lavender Brown, Cho Chang and one of her giggly friends, and Cedric Diggory. After them came a group of Hufflepuffs that consisted of Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, and Justin Finch-Fletchley, but after Dennis and Colin Creevey, and the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team entered the pub. Harry looked away to calm his churning stomach. In the end, over four dozen people showed up, a good amount from every house and year aside, there was even a good amount of Slytherins present.

It took a bit of rearranging, but eventually everyone was able to find a seat facing the original group of Harry, Hermione, Blaise, Neville, Ron, and Draco.

"Could we have," Harry paused to do a quick headcount, "fifty-three butterbeers?"

The stunned bartender glared at Harry for a few seconds, before barking out. "Six galleons and two sickles."

Harry handed over the required amount, then began to help the bartender and a few others pass the butterbeer to everyone. Once everyone received their drinks, Harry settled back in his seat and waited for Hermione to begin.

"Er, well…er…hi," she stuttered somewhat nervously. Immediately all attention was focused on her. "Well, I'm going to just come right out and say it, this year's Defense class has been nothing short of a joke; Umbridge is a fool if she believes that her ridiculous method of hands off learning will actually work." This garnered several surprised looks as Hermione was known to have the upmost respect for authority, teachers in particular. "If we continue on the path we're going, not only will we fail our end of year exams, and for older students, our _O.W.L_._s _and _N.E.W.T.s,_ the tests that will determine our futures, but we will also be woefully unprepared for the real world because…well because Voldemort is back."

The reactions to the statement were disappointingly predictable; several students sloshed butterbeer down themselves, and near everyone else at least shuddered at both the name and the bold declaration, but Hermione didn't allow the reactions to deter her. "So that's why my friends and I," she gestured to the small group sitting in the center of the mass of students, "decided that we want to do something about it. It started with the idea of only the six of us on self-studying, but it soon became something more. If everything goes to plan, by the end of the year all of us will be able to defend ourselves, and even others, against those who wish to do us harm." Hermione glanced at the adults who all seemed to be listening just as attentively as the students. "And, in due time, maybe more."

Hermione looked around nervously at the group of students. "Well, that's basically our plan. So if you're interested in joining us, we'll need-"

"Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?" a blonde Hufflepuff Harry faintly recognized as being Zacharias Smith asked rather aggressively.

Harry and his friends exchanged glances, they knew that this would be a likelihood that some, or even most, of the students present would have come in hopes of hearing firsthand what happened the night of the third task. They had discussed all sorts of ways to handle the situation and had come up with a plan of action. The fifth years however, hadn't counted on a certain Hufflepuff stepping in before they could enact said plan.

"I think Harry's word is proof enough," Cedric answered Smith before Harry or his friends could say anything else. "But if it isn't, take mine as well. I was there that night, maybe not for the entire thing, but I saw enough. Someone tried to kill me, almost succeeded as a matter of fact." Cho gripped Cedric's hand tightly. "A Killing Curse was headed straight at me, there was no way I would have been able to dodge it, but Harry saved me, he could have died, but he did it anyway. I owe him my life."

"So that's why you believe him?" Smith scoffed. "Out of a sense of duty?"

"No," Cedric refuted. "I believe him because the events that he said took place in that graveyard that night, they're horrible, and if-_when _they prove to be true, people are going to die, lives will be destroyed, so why in the hell would Harry lie about something like that?"

"Because he's mad, that's why!" Smith exclaimed. "That scar on his head has addled his brains."

"Now, hold on you-"

"No, Ron," Harry said calmly, "let me." The dark haired teenager stood from his seat and stared directly at Smith. "Look at me," he said. "Look me dead in the eyes and then try and tell me I'm mad again."

Smith didn't even last five seconds before he looked away from Harry's piercing green eyes, sufficiently cowed. He sat back down and didn't utter another word.

"If any of you came here hoping for a story, then I suggest you leave now." Harry cast his hard gaze over the silent teenagers. "I did not come here today to entertain fools and skeptics, I came in hopes of arming my peers with the means to defend themselves. I don't have the patience to deal with a bunch of cynics. If you don't want to believe Voldemort is back, then don't. I'm not here to persuade you, but when he returns and threatens the safety of your families, remember that you had an opportunity to learn how to keep them safe and you chose to walk away.

"So with that being said, to all my skeptics," he raised a hand and pointed to the exit, "there's the door."

Several seconds passed and no one moved, finally Harry nodded once in satisfaction and sat back down.

"We didn't expect you to," Terry Boot suddenly spoke up. "I can't speak for everyone, but my friends and I didn't come here hoping you'd give us a blow-by-blow account of what happened the night of You-Know-Who's return, what you told us was enough. We came here only for what was offered, a way to learn to defend ourselves." The Ravenclaw bit his lip nervously. "But I have to admit I'm curious about some rumors I've heard and didn't know if I should believe or not." Harry arched an eyebrow in question. "Is it true you killed a basilisk in second year?"

"Where did you hear that?" Ron asked.

"One of the portraits in Dumbledore's office was telling me about it. He said you killed it with a nothing but a dagger. Is it true?"

Harry looked to Hermione, silently asking how he should respond, she shrugged and gave him a half smile "It's true." Harry said simply.

"You killed a king of serpents with a _dagger_?" Susan Bones asked disbelievingly.

Harry flicked his wrist and his trusty silver dagger fell into his hands, he held it up for her to see before quickly re-sheathing it.

"Dumbledore let you keep it?"

"It was mine," the fifth year shrugged, "he couldn't just take it from me, and he assured me that as long as I didn't use it to harm anyone, I could continue to bring it to Hogwarts."

"Well now that that's settled," Hermione interrupted, much to the disappointment of most everyone in the room, "we need to decide whether or not you lot are interested in what we have planned." there was an almost immediate slew of affirmatives responses. "All right, then. You all will be told on when and where to meet by the end of this week, but only," Hermione produced a long sheet of blank parchment from her bag, "if you sign this. We need to know exactly who is interested, for future references,"

This idea was met with much less enthusiasm, but after several minutes spent cajoling everyone into signing, and assuring that the parchment would not be left lying around for prying eyes to see, the parchment was signed and the meeting was over.

* * *

_BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS_

_All student organizations, societies, teams, groups and clubs are henceforth disbanded._

_An organization, society, team, group or club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or_

_more students._

_Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge)._

_No student organization, society, team, group or club may exist without the knowledge and_

_approval of the High Inquisitor._

_Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an organization, society, team, group or club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled._

_The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-four._

_Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor_

Harry, Draco, and Blaise groaned in exasperation at the obnoxiously large sign fixed over the Slytherin notice board.

"Damn," Blaise muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"That just about sums it up," Harry agreed. "Come on, the other's should be at breakfast by now."

"Oh, thank goodness you guys are here!" Hermione exclaimed when the three Slytherins joined her, Ron, and Neville at the Gryffindor table. "So have you seen the new "_Educational Decree_?'" she spat the words as if they were something foul.

"It was kind of hard to miss it," Draco said. "The poster took up most of the space on the notice board."

"This isn't a coincidence," Harry said as he began piling breakfast onto his plate. "Umbridge knows about our plans. One of the patrons at the pub must have informed her."

"Or one of the students," Ron added.

"No," Draco said. "There was a jinx on the parchment Granger had everyone sign. If anyone's run off and told Umbridge, we'd know immediately."

"So what should we do?" Hermione asked, nervously biting her lip. "There's no way Umbridge will approve of our…club."

"We're not giving it up, that's for certain," Neville said. "We've worked too hard to make this possible and I'll be damned if we give it all up because of that toad masquerading as a teacher. Does anyone disagree?"

No one did.

Between the time it took for Harry to travel from the Great Hall to his first class of the day (Herbology) he was stopped by nearly half of the people present in the Hog's Head the day before who wanted to know if the new Educational Decree would be affecting their plans. Each time he assured them that no, it would not have any effect on the group, they would be proceeding as planned, approved or not. By the end of the day not only had the news that they were continuing as planned spread to all that it applied to, they were also informed when and where the first meeting would be held: the day after next in the Room of Requirements at eight.

The night of the first meeting found Hermione, Blaise, Ron, Draco, and Harry in the Room of Requirements a half an hour before the scheduled time, making sure the room was prepared and that their plans for the night were in order.

"Oh, I'm so nervous," Hermione muttered as eight o'clock rolled around and the six friends sat in the center of the room waiting for their peers to begin arriving. "What if something goes wrong? What if we get caught? This is a big act of rebellion we're not just taking part in, but _leading_. If we're caught, we'll be expelled, no questions asked. I don't think I could ha-Oh, Merlin they're here!"

The small group leapt to their feet as the door swung open and Ginny, Parvati, Lavender, and Dean entered the room.

"Wow," Dean said, looking around in awe. "Nice setup you've got here."

Harry made to explain the room's abilities, but before he could get more than a few words out more people filed into the room, declaring their amazement at the room and asking endless questions until he gave up on trying to answer and just waited until everyone had arrived.

When the last of the fifty or so students entered the room, Hermione closed the door behind them and locked it with a satisfying _click._

"So," she said, turning to beam at the assembled teenagers ranging from first year to seventh "welcome to the first meeting of our somewhat illegal defense group." Nervous laughter rippled through the room. "We, that is my friends and I, really appreciate the fact that you not only kept your silence when faced with Umbridge's new Decree," her nose crinkled disdainfully at the thought of the woman, "but also decided to remain with us despite the threat of expulsion. I hope that, as thanks, we'll be able to make this group more than worth your while.

"So, with that being said, there are several things that we would like to explain to you, and a few things we, as a group, need to decide. The first thing being, a name for our group, something that we can refer to in public without giving ourselves away."

"Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League?" Angelina asked hopefully.

"Or the Ministry of Magic are Morons Group?" suggested Fred.

"While I like your style," Harry laughed, "I think both of those kind of go against the whole remaining inconspicuous thing."

"Darn it," Fred muttered.

"How about the Defense Association?" Cho said. "Or the D.A. for short."

"That's a good one." Ron said. "A bit boring though," he muttered under his breath.

"Is everyone in agreement with the Defense Association?" Neville asked. "Or are there any other suggestion?"

"How about the Trickster's Anarchy?" Luna offered. "It could be T.A. for short."

"Trickster's Anarchy?" Hermione repeated. "I like it, I really do, but where did you come up with it?"

"Because Harry's the trickster's prince," Luna explained patiently. "I thought it only fitting considering he's our leader."

"Why do you think I'm the leader?" Harry asked bemused.

"Well, who else would it be?"

"Um, Hermione, or anyone else really."

"But they're not you."

"Right," Harry said lamely. "Of course not."

"I think Luna's right, Harry," Blaise said. "We need a leader, someone to keep the order."

"I thought that that responsibility fell on all of us!"

"It is, but we need someone to look to for orders. When things get tough we might not have time to confer amongst each other on what decision needs to be made. We need someone who can give orders that everyone would be able to follow without hesitation, and I for one want that to be you."

"Thank you, but-"

"But we still need to ask everyone else what they think. All in favor of having Harry be the man to lead us please raise your hands." Every hand in the room shot into the air. "Well there you have it. Do you accept your responsibility as leader?"

"I bloody well do n-"

"He does!" Blaise exclaimed. "Now, back to names, have we come to a decision yet?"

"I like Trickster's Anarchy," Draco said. "It's just that Lovegood's reasoning is a bit…_odd_."

"This is Luna we're talking about here," Blaise shrugged. "She's a perpetually odd person, but I still like the name. Anyone object?"

Another vote was held, and, though it wasn't a unanimous decision, it was eventually decided that the group would be called the Trickster's Anarchy, T.A. for short. The piece of parchment with all of their signatures on it was labeled _Trickster's Anarchy_ then pinned to the wall.

"Now that that's settled," Harry said after all of the decisions had been made, "there's one more thing we need to discuss before we get to work. As you can all see this group doesn't consist solely of one year, my friends and I figured this would occur and prepared accordingly for it.

"You all will be split into six groups decided, not by age, but by skill. The first level is where those with the least experience will be placed while the sixth is where those with the highest will go. Each session, your teacher will vary so you'll be able to learn from several different methods rather than just the one.

"Your placement will be decided on a series of basic tests to see where everyone stands ability wise, not how old you are. If a first year is just as skilled as a seventh year then they'll be put in the same group. Here in the T.A. age doesn't matter, only power and how capable you are of wielding it. Understood?" A chorus of affirmatives was his response. "Brilliant. Now, I want everyone to line up along the wall, let's get started on those tests."

Immediately, there was a scramble to do as instructed; it took a few more instructions and a bit of maneuvering, but eventually the teenagers were standing along the wall with a good two yards between each person. Upon Harry's instructions, a dummy appeared a meter or so in front of every student.

"These dummies" Ron explained, "have the ability to shoot a single spell at a time at a given target. On the mark, we'll give the dummies a spell and they will begin shooting it at you. You lot are too defend yourself however you can _without _destroying the dummies. Hermione, Neville, Harry, Draco, Blaise, and I will be walking among you, observing how well you defend yourself. When we're done observing, we'll have the dummies stop and it will be your turn to go on the offensive. After that's done, you'll be given another spell to cast and defend yourself from. Am I clear so far?"

There was a collective, "Yes."

"If you're given a spell that you can't perform or you become overwhelmed while on the defensive, just sit down and your dummy will deactivate. If three spells are introduced and you still haven't stood back up, then your assessment is over. There's no shame in sitting down considering the fact that, other than Professor Lupin and the imposter Moody, we haven't had a decent Defense teacher since arriving at Hogwarts.

"First years, Umbridge is the first DADA teacher you've had and she hasn't allowed you to perform a single spell, the rotten old hag, if you find yourself being overwhelmed on the first round, don't worry, we'll have you lot up to speed in no time."

"All right, is everyone clear on the instructions?" Ron asked, and was pleased when he was assured that everyone was. "The first spell you're to defend yourself against is Expelliarmus, the disarming spell. On three the dummies will begin to shoot, all right? Everyone ready? Good. One…two…_three_."

Immediately the room was filled with flashing lights as the dummies began shooting off the disarming spell at random intervals and at varying levels of power to keep the students on their toes. Hermione, Draco, Neville, Ron, Harry, and Blaise walked among the students, although they were careful to remain out of the line of fire, and took note of the level of ease each student displayed while defending themselves. Harry felt his ire for Umbridge grow when he saw nearly every first year student and a good amount of second years sit down almost immediately, the foolish woman would sooner see that her boss remained in power for just a bit longer than help teach her students how defend themselves from a very real threat.

Harry made sure to give each person who sat down an encouraging smile before making a small note beside their name, it was very unlikely that anyone who sat down on the first round would be getting back up, they simply didn't have the experience.

"All right everyone," Blaise shouted and instantly the dummies fell still. "Now for you lot to go on the offensive. On my mark start let's see how good you are at the disarming spell." Long, thin sticks that seemed similar to wands appeared in the dummies' hands. "One…two…three…_go_."

The offensive part of the test passed quickly, and soon enough the students were back on the defensive. As each level passed, the spells got progressively harder, and more and more students began sitting down until the six leaders of the group reached their last spell and only eight students out of the original fifty-three were left standing.

"Excellent job," Hermione beamed "You all did marvelously well, which unfortunately makes our job of finding just where everyone fits a bit harder, but…" she shrugged unconcernedly and looked down at her watch. "Well, it's almost nine, if you all hurry you'll just be able to make it back to your dorms before curfew."

There were disappointed groans, but everyone said their goodbyes then hurried from the room.

"I think that went rather well," Hermione sighed, when the last of their peers had departed. "Exhausting, and I was rather infuriated by how little the first years know, but other than that, it went rather well indeed."

"It did," Draco agreed. "But then again this _is_ the first day, just wait until we start teaching them, it'll be madness."

"Way to keep things optimistic." Neville laughed, throwing a cushion at the blonde.

"I prefer to think of myself as a realist."

* * *

The second meeting of the T.A., which was scheduled four days after the first at seven o'clock in the evening, was, without a doubt, far more interesting than the first. The meeting started off with every member of the group being informed of their placements as a result of their tests. It came as no surprise that every first year was placed in the lowest level along with several second years, the remaining second years and a few third were placed in the second level, and after that it was a veritable medley as to who was put where, the third group consisted of students from third year to sixth, while the sixth contained a half a dozen seventh years, four sixth years, three fifth years, and, surprisingly enough, a third year Hufflepuff.

"All right, everyone. Now that you've all been placed, I'll let you know who will be working with who today and we'll get right to it." Harry waited for the appreciative cheers to die down before continuing. "Level one will be working with me today, level two will be with Ron, level three has Draco, Hermione will be with four, Neville is with five, and Blaise with six. Everyone got that? Good, please make your way to the correctly numbered doorway."

Six numbered doors appeared in the far wall of the room and the members of the T.A. rushed eagerly to their respective doors, leaving the six founders to exchange amused glances.

"Well," Neville said, bouncing on the balls of his feet, "I guess I'll be seeing you all in an hour or so."

"Good luck to us," Ron muttered, looking at the door his group had gone through with no small amount of trepidation.

Blaise clapped his shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry, you'll do fine."

"Right. Of course I will."

The six friends exchanged glances and then simultaneously departed to their separate rooms.

The first level students Harry had been tasked with teaching were sitting in the middle of a spacious room, chatting animatedly with each other as they waited for his arrival. They were a fairly diverse group, being made up of first and second years from Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor, and a few from his own house.

"Hello," he said, smiling easily at the younger students as he joined them on the floor, "so you've all been sorted into the first level, but I don't want any of you to be disheartened by that seeing as for the past several years we've had some pretty shoddy DADA teachers. Umbridge, however, definitely takes the prize for the worst of the lot." The preteens giggled appreciatively at the little dig. "But no worries, we'll have you caught up and even surpassing your classmates in no time."

A shy looking Ravenclaw first year raised her hand. "Mr. Potter?" she said tentatively.

"Oh, there's no need for that Mr. Potter stuff," Harry said good-naturedly. "It's just Harry, your name's Carolina, correct?"

The girl nodded. "Yes, it is."

"All right, what is it you want to know?"

Carolina flushed as all of the attention focused on her. "I was just wondering, will we always be first level?"

"That is an excellent question." Harry said approvingly. "And no, you won't always be first levels. While we're training, my friends and I will be tracking the progress of each student, if you meet certain standards then you're given the option to take a test, if you can pass the test you'll be moved up to the next level."

Harry's answer prompted more questions from the students, all of which he answered as clearly and concisely as he could. When the question and answer session was over, the first and second years leapt to their feet, eager to begin their lesson.

"So, before we get into casting spells I want to know what you lot know, if not practically then theoretically. How many of you have actually been reading the texts Umbridge has assigned you?" A few of hands went up in the air. "How many of you have actually understood it?" Most of the hands went down. Harry laughed lightly at the sheepish expressions on the students' faces. "There's no shame in that," he said. "Theory is an excellent way to learn spells, but Umbridge is going about it the wrong way. It's impractical to believe that _just_ reading up on magical theory will be enough to learn how to perfectly cast a spell. You need practice and lots of it.

"Now here's a question for all of my second years. How much did you learn from the Moody imposter last year?" He listened attentively as, one by one, each of the seconds years gave an account of what they'd learned, but their knowledge was sorely lacking. While the imposter had attempted to teach them practical work, it was obvious that not only was he not a qualified teacher, but the man was obviously reluctant to arm potential enemies of the dark lord with the means to one day oppose his master.

The revelation was somewhat bittersweet. While Harry was disappointed that two years of their schooling had been wasted because of unqualified Defense teachers, he was relieved that he didn't have to worry about the second years knowing more than the first and thus making his job to teach them both harder.

"So I guess I'll be working on the very basics with you lot." Harry said, clapping his hands together. "But that's all right, the fact that your heads aren't stuffed with the incorrect teachings of some very incompetent teachers will make things much easier for all of us."

And with that, Harry launched into his first lesson. He began by detailing each spell they would be learning that night, describing the theory behind each in the simplest terms he could, explaining why they would ever need to use the spells, and the advantages and disadvantages of using them for defense. When that was done, he demonstrated how to use each spell, the proper incantation and wand movements, and how they were supposed to look when they were cast properly.

"So does everyone have that?" Harry asked when he was done explaining everything. "Does anyone have any questions? No? All right then, let's get started."

The lesson went fantastically, in Harry's opinion, his students easily grasped what he taught them, and in no time they were casting disarming spells and even a few offensive jinxes by the time their lesson was through.

"That was brilliant," Harry said, beaming at the tired first and seconds years like a proud mama bird. "You lot will be caught up in no time." Harry checked the time and, upon noticing the late hour, began to herd everyone from their small room, and just in time it seemed. Just as he and his group filed into the main room, the other five groups did the same thing.

"Perfect timing," Hermione smiled. "It's getting late," she said to the quietly chattering T.A. members. "But before everyone leaves, there's something we need to give you all." She reached into her bag and pulled out a small object that, after a quick enlarging spell, was revealed to be a basket full of shiny, golden galleons. She explained their purpose and how to use them, and then, after the customary awe at the advanced spellwork put on the fake coins, sent everyone off to bed.

"So how did things go for you guys?" Hermione asked, settling down on a conjured couch the moment the last of the students had gone.

Each of the six friends took turns describing their classes and the progress their students had made, the conversation then progressed to plans for the next meeting and when it should be scheduled, as well as who would be teaching whom. All of the official business was handled quickly, and the friends were allowed to just relax in each other's company.

"I'm glad we're doing this," Neville muttered sleepily. "I think we're doing the right thing."

"We are," Hermione agreed. "You all know how much I hate to defy authority, but Umbridge is being completely unreasonable, _someone_ needs to prepare Hogwarts' students for the world outside these walls, and if she won't do then I'm more than happy to do it for her."

"Just think of how furious she would be if she caught us," Ron laughed. "It'd be expulsion for the lot of us."

"Dumbledore won't let that happen," Hermione protested.

Harry snorted. "Dumbledore won't have a say. The way I see it, he won't be headmaster for much longer."

"Why do you say that?" Blaise asked.

"The letter Percy sent Ron earlier this year," Harry ignored his redheaded friend's angry muttering, "was full of not so subtle hints of the Ministry's plan. They'll try to relieve Dumbledore of his position as headmaster, maybe by claiming he's grown too old to be able to run Hogwarts the way he used to, or by turning the public against him through the Daily Prophet until they're demanding his resignation. But just in case that plan fails, the Minister is gradually giving Umbridge more power over the school, come December it won't matter if Dumbledore is still headmaster or not, she'll have such a tight hold on the school he'll be left virtually powerless."

* * *

A month after the first T.A. meeting and things were going terrifically. Harry, Draco, and Blaise had managed to persuade a few more of the Slytherins to join the group, and after being tested they were placed in the proper groups. It took a while, but the newest additions to their secret organization were more or less accepted into the group, although the tension between the Slytherins and the other house, especially Gryffindor, was evident through the obvious competition and attempts to outdo the others. The six founders of the T.A. felt no reason, however, to put a stop to this, because, in the face of this new competition, they saw their students, even the first years, progress remarkably.

"I'm really pleased with how the third levels are doing," Hermione chattered one morning as she and Harry made their way to their Ancient Runes lesson. "I know it's only been a month, but I think we should start looking into moving a few of them up another-_oof_." The Ravenclaw's excited rambling cut off when she slammed into the body of a taller student who rounded the corner the same moment she did.

Before she could form a hasty apology and move on, an icy voice stopped her in her tracks. "I'd appreciate it if you'd watch where you're going, it takes a ridiculously long time to get the smell of mudblood from my robes."

The voice belonged to seventh year Adrian Pucey, the older teen had been trying to make Harry and his friends' lives difficult since the day the younger Slytherin had humiliated him in the common room all of those years ago.

"I'd watch my tongue if I were you," Harry said mildly, placing a hand on the small of Hermione's back to help steady her. "Lest you find yourself losing it."

"I don't believe I was speaking to you, mudblood lover," Pucey sneered.

"It seems you still possess all of the wit of a mountain troll. I have to admit I'm a bit disappointed, you're hardly helping the Slytherin reputation."

"And you are? Associating with filth and traitors, you're a shame to Salazar Slytherin and all of his descendants."

"Am I?" Harry asked only mildly interested in the conversation. "If I recall correctly, Slytherin was a man who appreciated ambition, cunning, and maybe just a bit of smarts tossed in there for good measure, but it seems to me that you lack all three."

Harry saw exactly what Pucey was about to do before he even acted, so by the time the seventh year shot off a borderline dark cutting curse, he already had a strong shield protecting both him and Hermione, a high powered banishing charm followed seconds after the shield and sent Pucey crashing into the wall behind him, knocking him unconscious.

"Hem hem."

Harry bit down an exasperated sigh at the irritating sound marking his most hated professor's arrival. "Good morning, Professor Umbridge," he said in a carefully neutral tone as he sheathed his wand.

"Mr. Potter," the woman smiled unpleasantly, "I'm certain you're aware that magic use is prohibited in the corridors."

"He was defending himself," Hermione protested. "Pucey attacked us."

"Be that as it may, Mr. Potter still broke the rules, I believe ten points from Slytherin and a week's detention with me will teach him not to do it again."

"That's unfair! Harry was-"

"Ms. Granger," Umbridge said sharply while somehow managing to maintain the sickly sweet tone of voice, "I have made my decision, nothing you say will change my mind, Mr. Potter _will_ serve detention with me."

"And Pucey?" Hermione said through clenched teeth. "What will his punishment be?"

Umbridge glanced carelessly at the slowly rousing seventh year. "I believe he's been sufficiently punished."

Hermione gasped in outrage, but Harry placed a calming hand on her arm and she fell silent.

"Your first detention will be tonight, Mr. Potter, I expect to see you in my office at five o'clock on the dot."

Harry bowed his head mockingly at the woman, then led Hermione away before she could protest any further.

"Why did you let her get away with that?" Hermione snarled, when they reached the Ancient Runes classroom. "Her reasoning was unjust, if you'd protested there's no way she would have been able to get away with giving you detention."

"I know," Harry soothed "but I know which battles to fight, ten points from Slytherin and a week of detention will hardly kill me."

"But the T.A…"

"The detention is scheduled for five, as long as it doesn't last any longer than two hours it shouldn't be a problem."

Hermione shook her head, but sighed in resignation. "Fine, if you don't mind the complete injustice just done to you I won't say anything else about it."

Harry laughed at her over dramatic exclamation. "I greatly appreciate that."

Hermione sniffed haughtily and stuck her nose in a book.

* * *

"Right on time, Mr. Potter," Umbridge greeted the moment Harry knocked on her office door at their specified time of five in the evening. "Come in."

Harry entered the office and only just held back a cringe at the eye watering pink walls, the lace doilies draped across every flat surface, and the horrible ornamental plates decorated with happily frolicking kittens hanging on the wall.

"Sit down."

He settled down in a straight backed chair and pulled it closer to the lace covered table set before him.

"Very good," Umbridge smiled. "Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me, Mr. Potter. No, not with your quill," she added, as Harry bent down to open his bag. "You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are."

Harry accepted the quill she handed to him and stared at it suspiciously, the tool looked normal enough, it was thin and black, although it had an unusually sharp tip, but there was a faint aura of magic around it.

"Do you have any ink for me?"

"Oh, this quill doesn't need ink,"

Was that what the magic was? Was this a self-inking quill? Harry doubted the notion, the magic surrounding the quill felt tainted, not completely dark, but not light either.

"I want you to write '_I must not use magic in the corridors._'" Umbridge instructed.

"How many times?"

A decidedly unpleasant smirk spread across the toad woman's face. "As long as it takes for the message to sink in."

Harry pulled a sheet of parchment from his bag and began to write, _I must not use magic in the corridors. _A sharp pain sliced across the back of his hand, the words had carved themselves into the back of his hand, but, as he watched, the torn skin healed itself leaving nothing but a faint reddening of the skin behind.

So that was the source of the magic, he was using a blood quill, a Ministry regulated item that was usually used when a person needed to sign a contract in blood. Using a blood quill to sign a name, or even write a line, wouldn't leave a mark behind, as proved by his already healed hand, but writing lines with the quill would no doubt leave some serious scarring.

"Is there something wrong, Mr. Potter?"

Umbridge frowned when, instead of looking to her with pain, anger, and maybe even a little tinge of fear, Harry observed her with interest and amusement. It was most likely Umbridge had acquired the quill legally, but the way she was using it was, no doubt, quite illegal. He'd enjoy having something to hold over her head.

"Are you aware that you've given me a blood quill?" he asked mildly.

"I am."

"And are you aware that it is illegal to use it in the way you are attempting to?"

Umbridge's beady little eyes narrowed. "I am High Inquisitor," she said sharply, "and I have the right to punish any troublesome student as I see fit."

"Ah, so I'm not the first student you've used this blood quill on?" Harry felt the little amusement he felt disappear. Using the blood quill on him, he who could take a bit of pain and walk away with minimal damage, was one thing, but using it on his peers was a whole other thing.

"That is hardly your concern?" Umbridge scowled. "You are to write your lines and keep your silence."

"How long do you think this will last?" Harry asked, leaning back in his seat and lazily twirling the quill around his fingers. "You've got the students scared into submission, they won't say anything, not yet. But what happens when you lose power, all of the students who've been forced to mutilate themselves will start talking and your name and the Minister's name will be less than filth."

Umbridge leaned closer to Harry and smiled nastily. "And what," she said, "if I _don't _lose power."

Harry snorted incredulously. "You can't honestly believe you'll keep your position in Hogwarts for much longer? The Ministry does not belong in Hogwarts, you'll find, if you haven't already, that you have no place in this school."

Umbridge snarled ferociously at Harry. "_Leave_."

"What about my lines?" he asked innocently.

"Get _out_."

Harry calmly collected his bag and left the defense teacher to fume alone.

Thoroughly pleased with himself, Harry walked up several flights of stairs and through the winding corridors to the Room of Requirement.

"Umbitch," he said clearly, and the door appeared. On the nights of the T.A. meetings, Harry and co. set a password on the door to the Room of Requirements, as long as none of the members said anything, only those present at each meeting would be able to get in.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione exclaimed when Harry entered the room, she and the others were sitting by a fireplace playing a game of exploding snap. "You're supposed to be in detention."

"I got kicked out," he said, plopping down between Neville and Ron.

"How in the world did you manage that?"

Harry explained the events that led to his arrival in the Room of Requirements, and enjoyed his friends varying reactions.

"She'll hate you even more now than ever," Ron chortled.

"I figured as much," Harry agreed, "but it was just too good of an opportunity to pass up." Harry's smile faded. "But we'll have to speak with the T.A., find out who's had detentions with Umbridge and if they've been forced to use a blood quill."

"Do really you think she's used a blood quill on other students?" Neville asked, disgust coloring his tone.

"More than likely," Harry scowled. "But if I have anything to do about it, she won't dare use it again."

"She shouldn't be using it in the first place," Hermione said darkly. "She's violating at least a dozen laws using that quill."

"She attempted to justify its use by informing me that as High Inquisitor she had the right to punish troublesome students however she saw fit."

"The cow," Blaise scoffed.

* * *

It turned out that there were eleven students in the T.A. who had had detentions with Umbridge, and every last one of them had used the blood quill, as proven by the nasty scars on the back of their hands. It took several long minutes to document the cases with fourth year Colin Creevey's camera, and several more to heal the scars on the back of their hands.

"If any of you ever have a detention with Umbridge again," Harry said solemnly, after healing the last of the blood quill victims, "don't under any circumstances use the quill. Forcing a minor to use a blood quill to write lines is illegal, so any punishment she will attempt to threaten you with is more than likely an empty threat. She wouldn't risk her illegal use of the quill coming to light."

"If it's illegal," Faye Dunbar, a Gryffindor girl in his year piped in, "why can't we just report her to the authorities now and have her arrested?"

"Because our government is corrupt," Hermione scowled. "If we try to speak against Umbridge and her treatment of us it will most likely be covered up. Umbridge is too important in the Ministry's efforts to gain control of Hogwarts for a little thing like the illegal use of blood quills on minors to get her pulled out of the school and punished accordingly."

"That's unjust!"

Hermione shrugged. "It is, but there's hardly anything we can do about. Just try not to get any detentions from Umbridge while we try to figure out what to do. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Brilliant. Now, I'm sure you're all tired so we'll let you go, but just in case we don't see you before the end of term, have a safe and happy Christmas."

The sentiment was returned and soon after the T.A. exited the Room of Requirements in small groups of two or three.

"This break couldn't get here soon enough," Ron sighed, pulling the door to the room shut as he and the five others slipped out into the empty hall. "Merlin knows I need it, this term has been brutal."

"I couldn't agree with you more," Harry said. "Two weeks of no homework, no lessons, no _Umbridge _is exactly what I need."

"Well don't go getting too excited," Hermione cut in. "We still have one more day before the end of term."

"Would it be too much to hope that the professors will go easy on us?" Neville asked.

"Most likely," Blaise sighed. "With our luck they'll give us twice the amount of work and a ridiculous amount of homework to keep us from forgetting everything we've learned while we're off. That wouldn't do what with the upcoming…"

"_O.W.L.s_," the others chorused, pulling disgusted faces as they did. The teachers' constant harping on the upcoming O.W.L.s and just how important they were had driven even Hermione to near madness.

The six friends shared a quiet laugh before pausing at a split in their paths. "Well, we'll see you tomorrow morning," Harry said as he, Blaise, and Draco headed towards the hall leading down to the Slytherin common room. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." Ron, Hermione, and Neville chorused, moving in the directions of the halls that would lead to their respective dorms.

"Don't let the bedbugs bite," Harry called.

The sound of Hermione's amused laughter, and Ron's worried queries about what bed bugs where and who they'd be biting followed the Slytherins all the way down to the dungeons.


	12. Chapter Twelve

The next morning, Ron wasn't at breakfast. Neville had shown up only a few minutes after Hermione, Draco, Harry, and Blaise's arrival at the Ravenclaw table with the news that Professor McGonagall had paid a visit to the Gryffindor dorms at an obscenely early hour of the morning and pulled all of the Weasley children from their beds, they had left Hogwarts via the Headmaster's fire place not long after.

They had all been incredibly concerned about their friend and his family's wellbeing, so worried Harry was almost willing to approach the Headmaster to find out what had happened, but they eventually decided against that course of action and thus were left to worry for the entire day. McGonagall had been very careful not to let slip the Weasleys' situation.

They were granted reprieve a day after the Weasleys' departure when Ron sent them a letter assuring them that he and his family were, for the most part, fine. His father had been attacked by a large snake while snooping around the Department of Mysteries for the Order. He'd been found, unconscious and bleeding, when an Order member had gone out in search for him after he was late returning home. Mr. Weasley had suffered severe blood loss, and the venom coating the snake's fangs made it so that his wounds couldn't be healed with magic, but other than that he was fine. Ron and the rest of the Weasley's had visited him at St. Mungo's the day before and he was already awake and irritating his wife.

"Maybe I shouldn't go skiing with my parents," Hermione said worriedly. "I could always tell them I want to stay here and do a bit more studying, they'd be disappointed but they'd understand."

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation; he, Hermione, Neville, Draco, and Blaise were among the many students at the Hogsmeade train station preparing to leave Hogwarts for the holidays. Hermione was going skiing with her parents while the others, Draco and Blaise included, were spending their holidays at Grimmauld Place. It had taken three quarters of an hour, several condescending remarks about prejudice, and a threat to spend Christmas with the Malfoys instead, before Dumbledore and McGonagall agreed to allow Blaise and Draco to join them, something that both boys were incredibly grateful for. Blaise's mother was so busy with a new husband, she probably wouldn't even notice her son's absence, and the Malfoys were caught up with business for the Dark Lord, something Draco was leery to get entangled in.

"No, Hermione," Harry told her firmly. "Ron said his dad will be all right, go and spend time with your parents, we'll let you know if anything happens."

The brunette bit her lip uncertainly. "If I send an owl now, it'll reach them before they can start heading to the station." Harry pinned her with a stern glare and her shoulders slumped. "Oh, all right. I'll go."

"Brilliant," Draco snapped. "Now that that's settled, do you mind if we board the train before my arse cheeks fall of?"

"Eloquent as always, Draco," Harry laughed, but began trudging through the calf high snow to the train obligingly.

Harry and the others settled down in a train compartment with Luna and spent the entire ride to Kings Cross playing several games of exploding snap, reading articles from the newest edition of the Quibbler, exchanging chocolate frog cards, and persuading Hermione that, no, she could not abandon her parents to spend Christmas with them at headquarters.

"You promise to let me know if anything changes?" Hermione asked as she and the others climbed off of the train.

"I promise," Harry swore. "Now look, there are your parents, let's go before you change your mind _again_."

The four boys ignored Hermione's protests and dragged her to where her parents were waiting by the portal that led out to Kings Cross. Greetings were exchanged, followed by several minutes of polite talk before the Granger's departed and Neville, Blaise, Draco, and Harry moved on to find the Order members meant to escort them to Grimmauld Place.

"There," Harry said, pointing to a nondescript brown haired man, and a blonde woman with startlingly blue eyes. The small group dragged their trunks to the duo. "Remus." Harry dropped his trunk and reached out to hug his surrogate uncle "Tonks."

"How in the world did you recognize us?" Remus asked after pulling away from the hug.

"Tonks always goes for the more exotic eye colors. And your glamour isn't near as strong as you'd think."

"Dumbledore put it up," the werewolf replied flatly.

"Glamours obviously aren't his forte."

"I think his glamours are plenty fine," Tonks laughed. "It's you that's the problem, kiddo."

Harry grinned and shrugged. "Maybe. Anyway, you both have met Neville already you met the others third year, Remus, so introductions are mostly for Tonks. Tonks, meet two of my best friends and fellow Slytherins, Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini."

Draco nodded cordially and Blaise granted her a warm smile. "A pleasure."

Tonks grinned without a hint of prejudice in her features. "Likewise."

"Now that introductions are through, I think we should get out of here, it's not safe to linger and I know for a fact Sirius has been climbing up the walls waiting for you to arrive."

"Why didn't he just come with you then?"

"We both agreed it would be best if he didn't come along, his presence would attract attention which would kind of ruin the whole objective of retrieving you lot quickly and quietly."

"Well, then let's get going, we don't want to keep him waiting for much longer."

"Right." Remus defied the laws of physics by pulling a bright red Frisbee from his pocket and holding it out to the collection of teenagers. "Grab on everyone," he said. "We're gone in three…two…one."

The nauseating sensation of being yanked from his feet by his navel overtook Harry, and the world sped by in bursts of dizzying colors and sounds, he only just managed to keep his balance when the portkey dumped them in the courtyard of Grimmauld Place. The others weren't so lucky.

"Why didn't we just portkey right into the house?" Neville asked as Harry helped him to his feet.

"Draco and Blaise need to receive the secret first." Remus fished slips pieces of paper from his pocket and handed it to the two teens. They glanced down at them in confusion, then up at the suddenly visible townhouse in surprise.

"Clever," Draco muttered.

"I'm glad you think so," Tonks said happily, herding everyone up to the front door. She tapped her wand against the door and the plethora of bolts could be heard unlocking from inside. "In you go."

The group was barely able to file into the house and close the door behind them before Harry was suddenly attacked by a monstrous black dog.

"Bloody hell, Padfoot," Harry cried, falling to the ground under the weight of his godfather's monstrous form. The animal let out several thundering barks and licked Harry from chin to forehead. "Get off of me, you brute. You're too heavy to be playing lapdog."

The animagus seamlessly shifted from canine to human. "How about now?" Sirius asked, resting his entire weight onto Harry.

The teen hefted his excitable godfather off of him and onto the floor with a soft grunt, then climbed to his feet. "A little warning would be great next time, Moony," he scowled.

Remus chuckled. "I'm quite sure I did, on the platform, remember?"

"You told me that he was climbing the walls waiting for us, not lurking in the entrance hall waiting to pounce."

"But it's so hard to catch you off guard, Prongslet," Sirius whined. "I took my chance and it was worth it."

"I'm glad to note you haven't grown up a bit since the last time I saw you."

"Me too," the dog animagus agreed wholeheartedly. "That would have been terrible."

"Merlin forbid that ever happen. Anyway," Harry forcefully turned his godfather to face his friends, "you've spent extensive time with Neville this summer, so no introductions needed there, and just in case you've forgotten them from the last time you saw them, this is Blaise and Draco."

Sirius scowled at them good naturedly. "The Slytherins, I'm sure dear old mum will be pleased." Sirius glanced at the portrait that had, thus far, been suspiciously quiet. "Hey, you still in Slytherin, Harry?"

"Yes, Padfoot," the teen sighed. "I was still a Slytherin the last time you asked me, I'm still a Slytherin now and I reckon I'll still be a Slytherin the next time you ask me."  
"Just checking."

"If you're done checking, do you mind letting us know who's sharing with whom so we can put our stuff up?"

"Right," Remus piped in. "Neville and Ron will be where they were last summer, Draco and Blaise will be right across the hall from them, and you've already got your own room set up. Would you like us to escort you or…?"

"Go relax, Nev and I know the way."

"All right, if you're sure." Sirius clapped Harry's shoulder. "Ron, Ginny, and the twins are waiting for you upstairs."

"Got it, come on you guys." Harry herded his friends up the stairs and, after three quick stops at Ron, Ginny, and the twin's respective bedrooms, they settled down in Harry's bedroom.

"So what happened?" Harry asked. "Your letter was vague at best, Ron."

"Sorry, mate, but I couldn't risk saying any more than I did, just in case the letter was intercepted." Ron apologized. "Dad was taking his turn guarding something for the Order, we think it was the weapon they mentioned earlier, but he fell asleep and was attacked by You-Know-Who's snake. What was her name again?"

"Nagini."

"Right, Nagini. She bit him a couple of times, then slithered off to do whatever she'd been sent there to do."

"So the snake wasn't there for your father?" Draco asked.

"No," Ginny said. "She was there for something else, probably the same weapon Dad was supposed to be guarding."

"So their meeting was no coincidence?"

"We don't think so."

Harry sighed and flopped back on his pillows. "Do you think I could pull the same stunt I did this summer and coerce them into giving us a bit more information?"

"Probably not," Fred said mournfully. "They were willing to give us the general information before, but this is much more specific and seems a bit more hush hush."

"Damn."

Any further conversation was forestalled when Mrs. Weasley poked her head into the room. "Dinner's ready." Prompting the teens to leap up and hurry down the several flights of stairs to settle down around the table.

Dinner was a peaceful affair, conversation about the events of first term was exchanged, tales of Umbridge's evil deeds were relayed, and the younger members of the group tried and failed to wean information from the Order members.

After several servings of a hearty blueberry tart, Mrs. Weasley shooed the disgruntled teenagers off to bed "You've had a long day and you need your rest."

"All right, good night everyone."

"I hope you don't snore, Zabini." Draco muttered as the teenagers made their way up the stairs.

"I've been sharing a dorm with you for four and a half years," Blaise said with exasperated amusement, "you damn well know I don't snore."

* * *

Harry couldn't sleep. Mrs. Weasley had gone all out preparing for their arrival, she'd cleaned the house until every surface gleamed, she'd stocked the pantry and icebox with every food item imaginable, and she'd moved from room to room casting strong warming charms to ward off the winter chill. They were too strong.

Harry was dying, his skin crawled with discomfort and his entire body was layered with a thin sheen of sweat, he'd stripped down to the bare minimum the moment he'd climbed into bed and hadn't even bothered to crawl under the covers. Unfortunately, neither action did anything to cool his body down.

He only endured a few minutes of the stifling heat before climbing out of bed and stumbling over to the window; it took more time and energy than he'd care to admit to wrench it open, but the rush of freezing air was completely worth the effort.

Harry collapsed onto his bed in relief as the warm air was swept out of the window and replaced with a refreshingly cold breeze. His strong aversion to warmth unsettled him more than just a bit, and brought forth the reminder of the experiment he'd conducted and the frightening results it yielded. He hadn't tried it again since that day in Privet Drive, and he'd tried his best not to think about it, but every now and then, especially at times like this, he couldn't help but ponder what it meant, what was wrong with him.

With every speculation, Harry's thoughts turned darker and darker, as he deliberated the changes occurring to his body he wondered if he should tell someone about them, namely his father. Something could be wrong with him, something to do with his mixed blood, something that could only be fixed if he told his father about it.

With a small sigh, Harry rolled off of the bed and crossed the room to his trunk where he retrieved a single item tucked into a small compartment in the side of the trunk, then curled back up on his bed. The cold air had soothed his frayed nerves, but they did nothing for his raging thoughts. There would be no way he'd be falling asleep with his mind racing a mile a minute so he might as well attempt to get in contact with Loki.

The object he was slowly turning around in his hand was a small, flat stone, about half the size of his fist and a soft glowing blue; a single rune was carved into one side of the stone, ehwaz for communication.

Harry sent a small burst of magic into the stone and waited silently, watching; for several long minutes nothing happened, but then it warmed in his palm and began softly pulsing with his magic. The message had been received, all he could do now was wait.

The stone was the only way father and son could communicate when Loki was in Asgard. When Harry wanted to get into contact with his father he would power the stone with a bit of his magic, the rune on the rock activated a similar stone in Loki's possession, informing the god that his son was in need of him. Whenever Harry activated Loki's stone, Loki would activate Harry's in return to show that he had received the message and would proceed to travel to Midgard as soon as he could.

Luckily, Harry barely had to wait half an hour before his father arrived in his bedroom, slightly out of breath and concerned for his wellbeing. "What is it, little trickster? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Harry lied. "I just missed you is all."

Loki knelt at his son's bedside, worry etched in every line of his face. "Are you trying to catch your death? It's freezing out there and you have your window wide open."

"I was burning up."

"Hmm." Loki rested the back of his hand on Harry's forehead. "You are a bit warm, are you certain you're all right?"

"I'm certain," Harry assured him. "Mrs. Weasley just overdid it a bit on the warming charms."

"Well, do you think you're sufficiently cooled down or do you need to risk catching pneumonia for a while longer?"

"I think I'm cooled down enough."

"Good," Loki waved a hand and the window slid closed again. "Now, you said you summoned me because you missed me, nothing else?"

Harry bit his lip, now would be the perfect time to tell Loki, to fill him in on the odd things happening to him, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words. Some part of him, the part that had been horribly abused by his relatives, was afraid that if he told his father about his blue skin and aversion to the heat, the man would look at him in disgust and denounce him as his son. It was a foolish thought, but it was there.

"No," he murmured, coming to a decision. "Nothing else."

It would remain his secret, if only for a little while longer.

* * *

Christmas at Grimmauld Place was a festive affair, everything from Lady Black's portrait to the decapitated house elf heads hanging on the wall had been decked in Christmas decorations. Sirius was in a grand mood, laughing and singing Christmas carols with Remus, the festive mood was even rubbing off on Kreacher, who could be heard humming as he dusted Harry's room (one of the only rooms he would clean without being ordered to). The mood was somewhat dampened when Mr. Weasley was unable to return home due to his wounds refusal to heal, though the group made sure to visit the perpetually cheerful man in the hospital on Christmas day.

The only person who wasn't completely carefree the days following Christmas day was Harry, his decision to keep such a large secret from his father weighed heavily on his conscience, though he did a very good job of hiding it. Thankfully, he was provided a much needed distraction when his Head of House showed up at Grimmauld Place a few days before the start of term and demanded to see Harry.

"Hello, Professor," the teen said arriving in the kitchen to find Sirius and Snape glaring at each other while Remus watched on in exasperation.

"Potter," the potions master greeted, finally tearing his eyes away from Sirius'. "Sit."

"I would appreciate it if you didn't order _my _godson around in _my_ house." Sirius snarled.

"I was supposed to see you alone, Potter," Snape said, ignoring Sirius, "but Black and Lupin felt the need to force their presence upon us."

"It's all right. They won't interrupt, will they?" Harry looked pointedly at Sirius who grumbled a reluctant agreement under his breath. "Good, so to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"The Headmaster has sent me to tell you that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term."

"Occlumency?" Harry said lightly. "Why does he think I should study such an obscure branch of magic?"

"The Headmaster believes it would be prudent if you learned to protect your mind from the Dark Lord's manipulations."

"I see," Harry sighed and leaned back in his seat. "But who says I need to learn it?"

"Unless you wish for the Dark Lord to crack your mind open like a nut and gaze upon your deepest darkest secrets as casually as if he were flipping through the pages of a dull read, it would be in your best interest to do so."

Sirius growled menacingly and made to stand from his seat, but Harry placed a calming hand on his arm. "Peace, Sirius." The teen turned back to his narrow eyed professor. "Perhaps I should have been clearer. What I meant to say was, who says I am not already proficient in the art of Occlumency?"

Snape's eyebrows rose, and even Sirius and Remus took on expressions of incredulous surprise. "While you may be slightly less pathetic than the feeble-minded children that waste my air with their inane questions and tedious whining, I doubt that you are proficient enough in the art of Occlumency to keep me out of your mind, never mind He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Why don't you give it a shot then?"

The suggestion was immediately met by violent protests from his godfather. "Absolutely not, Harry!" Sirius cried. "There is no way in hell I'm allowing this slimy bastard anywhere near your mind."

"Are you doubting my abilities?"

"I-well no…but Snape is…"

"Don't worry, Padfoot," Harry laughed. "My mind is very well guarded." He turned his emerald gaze to fathomless onyx eyes. "All right, Professor, give it your best shot."

Snape slowly drew his wand. "Very well. _Legilimens_."

A lance of concentrated magic sliced its way through his mind and collided with his mental defenses, it immediately collapsed upon impact. The next attempt to breach his mind held more power behind the attack, it was obvious Snape had been holding back on his first try, but that too failed. It took three more failed attempts before Snape realized that simply smashing his way into his mind would prove unsuccessful every time, so he switched tactics. A thin tendril of magic slipped into his mind this time, it wound its way over and around his defenses, probing the perimeter and checking its strength, it was clearly searching for a weakness in his defenses; a soft spot or a crack that it could worm its way through. It found none.

"Well, Potter," Snape said, pulling out of Harry's mind, "it seems you were correct. I believe even the Dark Lord would have great trouble breaching your defenses." The dark haired man observed him with something akin to interest. "I believe it's safe to say, lessons will not be needed."

"I believe that would be correct, sir."

"Very well," Snape stood from his seat and left the room without another word.

"Well, that wasn't so bad," Remus commented lightly.

"Yeah, well I still hate the bastard," Sirius muttered petulantly.

* * *

The day of their return to Hogwarts was just as frantic as it had been on September first; the house was in constant commotion as everyone scrambled to locate wayward socks or pack a few last minute items. The house was in so much chaos the adults had long since given up on closing Lady Black's portrait, it seemed that whenever someone managed to subdue her some other noise just set her off again.

When everyone was gathered in the foyer, finally prepared to leave, Sirius pulled Harry aside while Remus distracted Mrs. Weasley with shrinking down the trunks.

"Here, pup," he murmured, shoving a badly wrapped package roughly the size of a paperback book into Harry's hands. "Take this, but don't open it until you're out of Molly's sight."

"What's it for?" Harry asked, slipping the package into his coat pocket. "You already gave me a Christmas present."

"It's just an easier way for me to get in touch with you, just in case you need something, all right?"

Harry pulled his godfather into a quick hug. "Thank you," he murmured. It was still odd having adults, other than his father, who genuinely cared for him.

"It's nothing, kiddo," Sirius said bashfully. "I just want to make sure you're well taken care of with that hag trying to take over the school."

"Is everyone ready?" Mrs. Weasley called, done with her task. "All right, say your goodbyes and let's get going."

Harry exchanged goodbyes with Sirius and the two oldest Weasley's before being hurried out into the refreshingly cold air by a heavily disguised Tonks and Remus who quickly summoned the Knight Bus.

"I've always wanted to get on this thing," Ron said, happily boarding the purple bus. It only took three stomach turning minutes to change his mind.

Thanks to a subtle bribe of a few galleons from Tonks, their stop was moved to the top of the list, second only to that of a woman who was becoming violently ill all over the bus, the group arrived at Hogsmeade in record time.

After gratefully exiting the Knight Bus, they received hurried goodbyes and a few instructions from Tonks and Remus before the group of teenagers were allowed to begin the difficult trek up to the castle.

"Why couldn't they have dropped us off closer to the damn castle?" Draco complained, pulling his coat tighter around his shivering frame.

"That was as close as the wards would allow," Harry replied, seemingly the only one not affected by the cold. "Besides, we're almost there, look the gates are in sight."

Once they passed through the gates and the castle came into sight, the walk became easier for all involved and in no time they were basking in the warmth of the castle. Hermione was waiting for them in the Great Hall, and, after asking how their holidays were, regaled them with tales of her horrible attempts at skiing.

"I fell down a _lot_, but I still had tons of fun, and my parents were happy to spend time with me."

"Aren't you glad we forced you to go?" Harry teased. "Think of all the fun you would have missed out on."

"Don't go getting a big head, Harry Potter." Hermione sniffed. "Just because you were right this once doesn't suddenly make you omniscient."

"Maybe not, but it's pretty damn close."

* * *

The next T.A. meeting was scheduled on the second day of term, Harry was with the sixth levels that meeting and spent most of the lesson teaching them how to produce a Patronus, a spell he'd learned with great difficulty in his third year.

"Can you produce a Patronus?" seventh year Ravenclaw, Selene Fawcett asked after he'd finished explaining the best way to go about casting the spell.

"I can," Harry admitted.

"Could you, perhaps show us? So we know what a Patronus should look like."

The small group of teenagers looked to Harry hopefully and he found no reason to deny them. "I don't see why I not," he said, drawing his wand he thought the holidays he'd spent among friends and family. "_Expecto Patronum_." An enormous wolf, nearly as tall as Harry and with canines the length of his forearm, formed from the silvery vapor and raced around the room, searching for a threat that wasn't there.

"It's so pretty," Selene murmured, watching as the Patronus trotted over to Harry's side and butted his hand with his snout questioningly.

"Thank you," Harry smiled, patting the wolf on the head before allowing it to dissolve. "But aside from being pretty and an invaluable defense against dementors, Patronuses can also be used as messengers. Give them a brief message and they'll relay it to a person of your choice, we'll be learning to do that later in the term after you've got a solid grip on how to conjure Patronuses.

"Now, are you all aware of how to conjure one? Do you have your happy memories? If so, you may begin."

Despite being the most advanced of the T.A., the sixth levels struggled to conjure the Patronus, it wasn't because they were lacking in power, most of them simply weren't thinking of happy enough memories. But by the end of the lesson, the majority of them had at least been able to summon a few puffs of vapor.

"Don't worry," Harry assured them as they filed out of the room at the end of their lesson, "this spell is among the most difficult you'll learn this year, not because you lack the power to cast it, but because you haven't found the right memory yet. That'll be tonight's homework, take a few minutes to think of the happiest thought you can muster, we'll work from there next lesson."

* * *

Only a few days after the start of term, Harry was approached by Eleanor Branstone, a first year Hufflepuff he recognized from the T.A. "Hi, Harry," the girl smiled shyly. "Professor Dumbledore asked me to give this to you."

Harry took the scroll she held out to him and smiled up at her. "Thank you, Eleanor. Have you found the spell you want to have mastered by the end of the year?" he asked, referring to the homework the first level students of the T.A. had been assigned the last meeting.

Eleanor nodded her head excitedly. "I want to learn how to the leg locking jinx, it'd be really useful against enemies."

"It would," Harry agreed. "It's a tricky spell to learn, but I think you're talented enough to be able to do it."

Eleanor beamed proudly at the older teen. "Thank you, I hope you're right."

After exchanging small talk for several more minutes, the first year left to join her friends at their table and Harry was able to read the message from Dumbledore.

_Harry_,

_I have received some interesting information that I would likely to discuss with you. Kindly join me in my office directly after dinner._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_P.S. Ice Mice are quite delicious._

Harry read the letter twice before handing it off to his friends.

"What do you think this interesting information could be?" Hermione asked once everyone had read the letter.

"And what did he mean by 'ice mice are quite delicious'?" Ron added.

"He probably wants to talk to me about my Occlumency lessons, or rather the lack of, and 'Ice Mice are quite delicious' is Dumbledore's way of telling me that _ice mice_ is the password to his office." Harry idly stabbed at his half eaten steak as he stared at the letter sitting on the table. "I have half a mind to just ignore this and just not show up at all."

"We all know you don't like Dumbledore," Hermione said, "but why would you ignore his summons?"

"Because he just wants to waste my time asking questions he already knows the answers to while subtly trying to poke around in my mind."

"But that's illegal!" Hermione protested.

"It is," Harry agreed. "But this is Dumbledore we're talking about, he believes himself to be above the law."

"You've got a point there, mate," Ron said around a mouthful of mashed turnips.

"So are you going to go?" Neville asked.

Harry sighed desolately. "I might as well get it over with, he'll just keep pestering me until I show up."

"Only you, Potter, would refer to Dumbledore summoning you to his office for important matters as pestering," Draco snorted.

"Thank you, it's a gift."

* * *

"So, Harry my boy, I'm sure you're aware of why I've summoned you."

Harry barely held back a sigh of exasperation, sitting in his less than favorite Headmaster's office discussing matters that had already been established was not the way he'd hoped to spend his night.

"I reckon I could hedge a few guesses."

"I'd like to discuss Occlumency lessons with you. You say you don't need them as you are already proficient in defending your mind from outside intrusion." Harry nodded his head in agreement. "Professor Snape confirmed your claims by testing your shields with Legilimency."

"Is there a point to your informing me of events that I'm already aware of?" Harry asked drily. "Believe it or not, I was there for the majority of the conversation between Professor Snape and myself."

"Of course, forgive me, my boy, I'm merely trying to ask if you would allow me to test your skills myself."

Harry's brows rose in amused surprise, the Headmaster actually _asking _for permission was a pleasant change. "I suppose you may," he acceded.

The Headmaster's attempts at breaching his shields were vastly different from Snape's methods, instead of using brute force to break through his defenses, Dumbledore took several moments to just observe his shields before trying to subtly worm his way through a nonexistent crack, when that effort proved to be fruitless, he focused on a single spot and attempted to hammer his way through. But like Snape`s previous endeavors, his efforts were for naught, Harry's shields were unbreachable.

"I am truly impressed, my boy, may I ask where you learned to erect such commendable shields?"

"You may, that does not, however, mean that I will answer."

"Will you?"

"No."

Dumbledore sighed. "I know that there is some animosity between us," he said, "and I would not be so foolish to believe that I am not, at least partially, to blame. But I was hoping that we could look past our differences and learn to trust each other."

Harry stared blankly at Dumbledore for several moments before snorting in amusement. "Yeah, that's not going to happen, you've wronged me and my family far too many times for me to just let that go."

"My boy-"

"I'm not your anything, so please refrain from calling me as such." Harry stood from his seat. "Are we done here?" he asked.

"Harry-"

"Are we _done_ here, Headmaster?"

"Yes, we are."

"Marvelous." Harry bowed shallowly at the waist, then turned and left the office.

* * *

"Today," Harry said, beaming at his enthusiastic third level students, several weeks after his conversation with Dumbledore, "we'll be working purely on defense, but not your average, run of the mill, protego defense. I want you all to give me one every day spell that you could use against Voldemort to prevent him from killing you, if even for one second longer. Miranda," Harry pointed to a third year Ravenclaw, "tell me what you've got, love."

"Um, an Aguamenti or maybe Aqua Erecto?"

"Good, why?"

"Well, if you put enough power behind it, you could hit him with a flood of water, he'd be too busy trying to keep water from going up his nose to worry about shooting a Killing Curse at you."

There was a round of appreciative laughter and Harry smiled in both amusement and approval. "Excellent. Lisa, what have you got?"

For the next ten or so minutes, each student took a turn naming a mundane spell to use against the Dark Lord and his followers and the reasoning behind them. Most every idea was odd, not something one would expect in a duel, and that was exactly what Harry hoped for, to teach his students unconventional spells to catch their opponents off guard.

"All right everyone, you've all had fantastic ideas. Now let's put them to-" Harry froze when he felt something in his pocket heat to uncomfortable temperatures before cooling back down, frowning he reached into his pocket and pulled out his still warm T.A. coin. Where the words _Unum Galleon _were usually inscribed along the curve of his coin were the large, capitalized letters that spelled out a single word: SNEAK.

"Damn it," he muttered. With only a thought, the Room of Requirement melted into one single room instead of the one main chamber and six antechambers it usually was, the T.A. members and five of the six founders of the group looked around in confusion, trying to figure out what had happened.

Hermione seemed to be the first to notice Harry's agitated state and didn't waste a second before trying to figure out what was wrong. "Harry?" she asked. "What's going on?"

The green eyed Slytherin flipped his coin into her hands. "Someone talked," he said. "Who's absent today?"

There was a bit of confusion as everyone tried to find any missing members, it was several minutes before anyone spoke up.

"Marietta," Cho called over the din of the assembled students. "Marietta's not here today, b-but she wouldn't…"

"Why isn't she here tonight?" Neville asked sharply. "Is she sick?"

"No, no she just said she wanted a night off, said she had a lot of homework to do. She…" Cho's eyes widened in realization.

"She what, Cho?" Harry coaxed softly.

"She tried to persuade me to do the same, she told me not to come to tonight's meeting but I came anyway. Do you think she was trying to warn me off so I wouldn't get in trouble?"

"That's more than likely," Draco said. "If Edgecombe really squealed we'll be having company pretty soon, we need to get everyone out before they get here."

"Right," Harry agreed. "All right everyone, let's get a move on, walk quickly but try not to run. And remember she doesn't have any proof on us, so she won't be able to go through with anything she threatens you with. Now, _go_."

There was a mad dash as everyone hurried through the door and briskly set off to their common rooms.

"Meet you in the common room?" Harry muttered to his two housemates, after receiving confirming nods he broke away from the few students still walking alongside him and began a roundabout route to the Slytherin common room. He was only just about to begin descending the staircase when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, he stepped aside in just enough time to miss a bright yellow spell that sped past his head and splashed harmlessly against the wall.

"Pucey, Professor Umbridge," he greeted, calmly gazing upon the faces of his most hated professor and his rival, "I'd wish you both a good evening but I don't think that's what the two of you are hoping for."

"Very good, Mr. Pucey," Umbridge panted, "I'll take it from here, you keep on searching."

"Of course, Professor Umbridge."

After Pucey disappeared around the corner, Umbridge turned to Harry and smiled unpleasantly at him. "Now, Mr. Potter, come with me, we'll be making our way to the Headmaster's office."

A small bemused smile quirked the corners of Harry's lips. "Whatever for?"

"Don't play the fool, Potter, we both know what you've done."

Harry tilted his head curiously. "Do we? Well why don't you humor me, and just tell me anyway?"

"Don't worry, I'm sure we'll be able to jog your memory when we're before the Headmaster." Umbridge wrapped a pudgy hand around his wrist and forcefully yanked him in the direction of Dumbledore's office. Harry could have easily twisted out of her grip, but allowed the woman to pull him along. His curiosity would come back to bite him one day.

"Whoa, okay then."

"Fizzing Whizbee," Umbridge practically sang when they stopped in front of the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office. The gargoyle leapt aside and allowed Harry and Umbridge onto the spiral staircase that led up to the office. When they burst into the large room, it was to find that it was already packed with people. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, his expression serene, the tips of his long fingers together. Professor McGonagall stood rigidly beside him, her face extremely tense. Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, was rocking backwards and forwards on his toes beside the fire, apparently immensely pleased with the situation, Kingsley Shacklebolt and a tough-looking wizard with very short wiry hair whom Harry did not recognize, were positioned on either side of the door like guards, and the freckled, bespectacled form of Percy Weasley hovered excitedly beside the wall, a quill and a heavy scroll of parchment in his hands, apparently poised to take notes.

"Well," Fudge said, grinning victoriously. "Well, well, well."

"Minister," Harry nodded at the man, trying and failing to hide his amusement at the man's dramatic tendencies.

"The Pucey boy and I caught him on his way to the Slytherin common rooms."

"Good, very good. Well, Mr. Potter, I expect you know why you're here."

"Unfortunately, I do not."

"I beg your pardon?" Fudge blustered.

"I'm afraid I have absolutely no idea why I'm here."

"So you have no idea," Fudge said sarcastically, "why Professor Umbridge has brought you to this office? You are not aware that you have broken any school rules?"

"School rules? No."

"Or Ministry Decrees?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Harry said blandly.

"So, it's news to you, is it," Fudge, seemed to be getting angrier by the second, "that an illegal student organization has been discovered within this school?"

"Yes, it is," Harry said plastering an innocent look of surprise onto his face.

"I think, Minister," Umbridge cut in, "we might make better progress if I fetch our informant."

"Yes, yes, do."

Umbridge left the office, but returned only minutes later with curly haired Marietta Edgecombe in tow, she was hiding the majority of her face in her hands, but Harry was still able to catch the terror in her eyes when she caught sight of him.

"Don't be scared, dear, don't be frightened," Umbridge attempted to sound maternal but missed her mark by miles, "it's quite all right, now. You have done the right thing. The Minister is very pleased with you. He'll be telling your mother what a good girl you've been.

"Marietta's mother, Minister," she added, looking up at Fudge, "is Madam Edgecombe from the Department of Magical Transportation, Floo Network office - she's been helping us police the

Hogwarts fires, you know."

"Jolly good, jolly good!" Fudge beamed. "Like mother, like daughter, eh? Well, come on, now, dear, look up, don't be shy, let's hear what you've got to - galloping gargoyles!"

As Marietta turned to look toward the Minister, her face was uncovered just enough for everyone to see that it was horribly disfigured by a series of close-set purple pustules that had spread across her nose and cheeks to form the word _SNEAK._

"Merlin, Marietta!" Harry cried, equal parts horrified and sympathetic. "How awful. Are you all right? Do they hurt terribly?"

A small burst of magic had the spots on her face flaring painfully once in warning, it was enough to send the girl back to hiding in her hands, wailing in terror.

"Never mind the spots now, dear," Umbridge snapped impatiently, "just take your robes away from your mouth and tell the Minister-"

But Marietta gave another muffled wail and shook her head frantically.

"Oh, very well, you silly girl, I'll tell him." Umbridge seemed to be reaching the end of her patience, but she still managed to plaster her sickly smile back on to her face when she turned to Fudge. "Well, Minister, Miss Edgecombe here came to my office shortly after dinner this evening and told me she had something she wanted to tell me. She said that if I proceeded to a secret room on the seventh floor, sometimes known as the Room of Requirement and spoke the password "Fudge up" I would find something to my advantage. I questioned her a little further and she admitted that there was to be some kind of meeting there. Unfortunately, at that point this hex," she waved impatiently at Marietta's concealed face, "came into operation and upon catching sight of her face in my mirror the girl became too distressed to tell me anymore."

Fudge smiled kindly at Marietta, and attempted to reassure her before grilling her for answers, trying to find out the purpose of the meeting, who was present and other suck trivialities. Marietta didn't say a word through it all.

When efforts to get the Ravenclaw to talk proved fruitless, Umbridge continued on with her story, explaining how she'd been informed of the formation of the illegal group by a man named Willy Widdershins, the man who'd been heavily wrapped in bandages that day in the Hog's Head, and had formed an Educational Decree as a result. But when Dumbledore easily proved her accusations of their first meeting in the Hog's Head were perfectly legal as the first Educational Decree had yet to be made, they turned right back to Marietta. They obviously hadn't learned their lesson from the first go round.

"Miss Edgecombe," Umbridge said, "tell us how long these meetings have been going on, dear. You can simply nod or shake your head, I'm sure that won't make the spots worse. Have they been happening regularly over the last six months?"

Harry watched with narrowed eyes as Marietta hesitated, then slowly shook her head.

"I don't think you understood the question, did you, dear?" Umbridge said, glancing worriedly at the Minister. "I'm asking whether you've been going to these meetings for the past six months? You have, haven't you?"

Again, Marietta shook her head.

"What do you mean by shaking your head, dear?" said Umbridge in a testy voice.

"I would have thought her meaning was quite clear," Professor McGonagall sneered, "there have been no secret meetings for the past six months. Is that correct, Miss Edgecombe?"

Marietta nodded.

"But there was a meeting tonight!" shouted "There was a meeting, Miss Edgecombe, you told me about it, in the Room of Requirement! And Potter was the leader, was he not, Potter organized it, Potter - why are you shaking your head, girl?"

"Well, usually when a person shakes their head," said McGonagall coldly, "they mean 'no'. So unless Miss Edgecombe is using a form of sign-language as yet unknown to humans -"

Professor Umbridge seized grabbed Marietta and violently shook her by the shoulders. Immediately, Dumbledore was on his feet, his wand raised, Kingsley moved forwards but Umbridge leapt away from Marietta.

"I cannot allow you to manhandle my students, Dolores." Dumbledore said coldly.

"You want to calm yourself, Madam Umbridge." said Kingsley, in his deep, slow voice. "You don't want to get yourself into trouble, now."

"No." said Umbridge breathlessly, glancing up at the towering figure of Kingsley. "I mean, yes -

you're right, Shacklebolt - I - I forgot myself."

"Dolores," Fudge said, "the meeting tonight, the one we know definitely happened, didn't you tell me you have proof of it?"

"Yes," said Umbridge, pulling herself together, "yes… well, Miss Edgecombe tipped me off and I proceeded at once to the seventh floor, accompanied by certain trustworthy students, so as to catch those in the meeting red-handed. It appears that they were forewarned of my arrival, however, because when we reached the seventh floor they were running in every direction. It does not matter, however. I have all their names here, Mister Pucey ran into the Room of Requirement for me to see if they had left anything behind. We needed evidence and the room provided."

Umbridge pulled a roll of parchment from her lurid pink purse, it took Harry all of one second to recognize it as the parchment Hermione had had every member of the T.A. sign during their very first meeting. It took only another second for him to set in on fire with a single blink and a sharp pulse of magic.

Umbridge shrieked, dropped the list on the ground, and began stomping on it in an attempt to put the flames out, but by the time they'd been doused little of the original list had been left behind. All that remained where the singed words that only barely read:'_-'s Anarchy_'and a few of the members soot smeared last names.

"Potter!" Umbridge shrieked, angrily rounding on him. But Fudge silenced her with a look, then bent to pick up the smoldering parchment.

"What does this heading say?" Fudge asked, squinting at the smudged words. "Anarchy?" he glared fearfully at Dumbledore. "Whose anarchy? And anarchy against what?"

Dumbledore placidly shrugged his shoulders. "I have no idea."

"Is that so?" Fudge said, slowly advancing on Dumbledore with narrowed eyes. "It's a coincidence, isn't it, that even as rumors of you plotting to usurp my positon as Minister of Magic I find proof of some form of anarchical organization in your school? Secret meetings in hidden rooms, drafting lists, _anarchy_," Fudge shook the burnt parchment in Dumbledore's direction "this can all be viewed as treason which is punishable by a minimum of fifty years in Azkaban?"

"This is preposterous!" McGonagall shouted. "_Treason_? You cannot be serious."

"Oh, but I am, dear lady," Fudge said, all but bouncing in excitement. "Any form of treason, or even suspected treason, is dealt with swiftly and harshly by the Ministry. I'm afraid you're going to have to come with me, Dumbledore. Aurors."

The aurors Kingsley and Dawlish exchanged unsure looks, Dawlish took a hesitant step forward but froze when Dumbledore turned his mild stare on him.

"Kingsley, Dawlish," Fudge snapped.

"I think there is a reason your aurors are somewhat hesitant to try their hand at detaining me," the headmaster said.

"And why is that?" Fudge snarled.

"Because they know that I will not come quietly."

Before Fudge, or really anyone for that matter, could even think about drawing their wands, Dumbledore swept his own in a wide arc, casting a spell that caused the roof to collapse in on itself, McGonagall protected Harry, Marietta, and herself with a dome shaped shield charm, the others were not so lucky. Fudge, Umbridge, Dawlish, and Kingsley were knocked out by falling debris as Dumbledore's phoenix flashed him away. It was the closest Harry had ever gotten to liking the old man.

* * *

_BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC_

_Dolores Jane Umbridge (High Inquisitor) has replaced Albus Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-eight._

_Signed: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic_

* * *

Umbridge wasted absolutely no time in making several radical changes to the school. Several more educational decrees were formed; one all but banned anyone from so much as mentioning Dumbledore's name, any teacher with close ties to Dumbledore were put under investigation to find out more about his "anarchy", and a new group was formed, the Inquisitorial Squad. Umbridge's most loyal students were assigned to keep a close watch over the students and report any suspicious behavior to her, they were nothing more than glorified rats who had been given the authority to dock house points. Hermione had been docked fifty points just for "being a mudblood", Ron had been docked one hundred for breaking Pucey's nose for that. They were often seen lurking outside of the Room of Requirements hoping to catch another secret meeting, but there hadn't been a T.A. meeting since Dumbledore had been fired.

Harry and his friends were less than pleased by the new changes, but they suffered in silence, knowing that they had to choose their battles wisely. But then came a change Harry absolutely would not stand for.

Several weeks after Dumbledore's ousting, Filch could be seen prancing around the school even happier than usual, and that was saying something as ever since Dumbledore had fled the castle, the ghastly caretaker had seemed to be floating on clown nine. The cause of his elation, however, wasn't discovered until later in the evening.

Harry, Ron, and Draco were on their way out to the Quidditch pitch for a quick fly before dinner when the trio was accosted by several sobbing first years, all members of the T.A.

"Harry, you have to help her." one of the younger girls, Janice Ackerly if he recalled correctly, cried, latching onto his arm. "Oh, please help her, he took her, a-and he said he was going to do _awful _things to her."

Alarmed at the first year's pleading, Harry dropped down to one knee and gently took hold of her shaking shoulders. "I need you to calm down for me, Janice," he said soothingly, "and tell me who has who? What did he say he was going to do to her?"

"Filch," Janice gasped, "he took Eleanor, said he was going to hang her by her thumbs for dripping mud in the Entrance Hall."

"He can't actually hang her by her thumbs." Draco said. "It's illegal."

"H-h-he had papers, official papers that gave him permission to use cop…corpa…corporal punishment on us."

Harry felt his blood turn to ice. "Where did he take her?" he asked, though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

"T-to his office."

Harry stood in one swift motion and turned to face his stricken friends. "Draco, alert the teachers to what's going on. Ron, take Janice and her friends to the infirmary and get some Calming Draughts in them, and tell Pomfrey to prepare a bed for another patient."

The two boys hesitated, before hurrying off to complete their allotted tasks, leaving Harry to deal with Filch.

There must have been something in his eyes or his demeanor that betrayed his raging anger, because as Harry marched briskly to Filch's office every student he passed quickly skirted out of his way, not even the few members of the Inquisitorial Squad he passed dared stop him, but they did hurry off to inform Umbridge of his suspicious behavior.

Because of the student's wariness of his foul mood, Harry reached the ground floor in record time, it didn't take much longer to arrive at Filch's office. Instead of bursting into the office, wand blazing like he wanted so badly to do, Harry paused and listened to make sure that he was in the right place and that the events that had been detailed were really happening. It only took the creak of oiled chains, the soft sobs of a young girl, and Filch's gloating voice informing someone that. "Next time, you'll think twice before befouling this castle," to ensure him that, yes, it was all true and that, yes, he was about to rain hell on Filch.

A simple flick of his wand had the locked door swinging open and Harry stepped into the room, the sight that met him immediately fueled his kindling anger. Tiny, first year Eleanor was hanging from the ceiling by chains wrapped around her wrists, tears were streaming from her puffy, red eyes, but upon his entrance they slowed, before stopping altogether.

"Potter!" Filch shrieked. "Who gave you permission to enter my office? I'll have you hanging by your wrists once I'm done with this little brat."

Before the caretaker could even blink, Harry had his hand wrapped around his throat and his wand pointed at his temple. "The key," Harry whispered dangerously. "Where is it?"

A gnarled hand, trembling in fear, reached up and pointed to where a key ring sat in a heap on the corner of his desk, Harry released Filch and immediately the man ran for the door, no doubt to summon Umbridge, but Harry paid him no mind, he reached for the key ring and moved to where Eleanor hung and began testing the keys in the lock. It took him several long minutes, minutes he couldn't afford, but eventually he found the correct key and unchained the dangling first year.

The moment her feet touched the ground, Eleanor wrapped her arms around Harry's waist and buried her face in his stomach, her little body shook from the force of her sobs.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked worriedly. "Stupid question, of course you're not all right, how badly are you hurt? How are you feeling standing on your own?"

"My wrists hurt," Eleanor murmured, pulling away from Harry, "and my shoulders, but I can walk just fine."

"All right, well, let's get you out of here and to the infirmary before the toad and her lackeys arrive."

They didn't make it to the infirmary. Umbridge, Filch, the majority of her Inquisitorial Squad were waiting for them in the Entrance Hall, blocking the only way to Madam Pomfrey's domain.

"Potter," Umbridge said in that annoyingly girlish voice. "I don't know what kind of school Dumbledore ran, but I will not have you attacking my staff. I hope you understand just how much trou-"

"Oh, _shut up_."

The students who had been slowly assembling to watch the drama gasped in shock and no small amount of delight, even Umbridge was staring at him, stupefied beyond words.

"_E-excuse me_."

"I said," Harry sneered, "shut up you disgusting excuse for a human being. You've been a nuisance ever since you entered this school, destroying our education, undermining our professors, and shoving your bulbous nose where it doesn't belong. We didn't protest too much because you were nothing _more _than a nuisance; even when you booted Dumbledore out we knew it wouldn't last, you'd be gone by next year.

"But this is where I draw the line, this is where I stop standing by and letting you have your way, because it's not just the adults you're hurting now. When you give permission to use corporal punishment on students just to further your own twisted views, when you allow staff to hang first years by their wrists, that's when I step in." Harry took a step closer to Umbridge, who immediately reached for her wand. "If Filch raises a single hand to me, or any other student, if you use one more blood quill on another student, so help me Merlin there won't be so much as a pile of ashes left of when I'm done with you."

"I will see you expelled!" Umbridge screamed furiously. "Threats against the life of a high ranking Ministry employee will land you in Azkaban!"

Instead of shrinking back in fear like most anyone else would have done when faced with such a threat, Harry smirked at the woman. "Go right ahead," he challenged. "But let me ask you this. What will you say when you're filing for my expulsion? For my arrest? Will you tell them why I attacked Filch? Why I threatened your life? Because I can assure you that the parents of Hogwarts students, the _voters_ will not appreciate your allowance of corporal punishment on their children. I have no doubt they'll become so infuriated they'll be calling, not only for your blood, but for Minister Fudge's as well. He _was _the one who placed you here after all, such a scandal will completely destroy his chances of remaining Minister."

Umbridge opened her mouth, prepared, no doubt, to make some sort of scathing retort, but she paused when she realized the truth behind his words, if the public got so much as a whiff of the school's new stance on corporal punishment, it would be Fudge's head they demanded

"Mr. Potter," Harry turned and watched as Professor McGonagall forced her way through the crowd of students that had gathered during the confrontation, and marched, unperturbed by the hundreds of eyes focused on her, to Harry's side, Draco was close behind her, "Dolores, what is going on here?"

"Oh nothing, Professor McGonagall," Harry replied calmly. "I was just taking Eleanor here to the hospital wing, it seems she's hurt her wrists, isn't that right, Headmistress?"

Umbridge glared so hatefully at Harry, the phrase 'if looks could kill' immediately came to mind, but she nodded and moved aside. "Of course."

"Very well," McGonagall said, "I will escort you." Her tone made it clear that she would allow arguments from neither Harry nor Umbridge, and neither did. The aged professor accompanied Harry and Eleanor to the infirmary, and when the little girl was busy being fussed over by Pomfrey, McGonagall turned to him and demanded that he tell her everything that had happened. And he did, leaving no detail out. When he was done, McGonagall's lips were pressed to tightly together they seemed almost nonexistent, and her nostrils were flared as wide as they could go, but when she spoke, she spoke with carefully controlled calm.

"I know you and the Headmaster do not get along and that you could not care less about his dismissal," she said quietly "but even you must admit that he is better than _her_. That woman does not belong here."

Harry turned to his transfiguration professor, eyebrows steadily rising in surprise and interest. "What is it you're trying to say, Professor?"

"I'm saying that it is time for Dolores Umbridge to leave this school, even if we have to..._persuade_her to go ourselves,"

A slow devious smile that almost (emphasis on the almost) made McGonagall regret her words stretched across Harry's face. "I believe that that can be arranged."

* * *

Late that night, after all of the drama had calmed down and the students and teachers had gone off to bed, Harry crept through the darkened corridors in search of a certain mischievous spirit. Now, when most students were up after curfew they made it a top priority to avoid Peeves at all cost, but it should have been obvious by now that Harry was _not_ like most students. Instead of actively avoiding the poltergeist, he was actively searching for him and he found him in the Great Hall, planting dungbombs under the Hufflepuff table.

"Student out of bed?" he cackled swooping closer to the lone Slytherin. "But not just any student, Potty Wee Potter, been causing all sorts of mayhem around Hoggywarts."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Harry grinned, settling down on top of the Gryffindor table. "But I didn't come here to have my ego stroked, I'm here to discuss matters of great importance with you."

Peeves guffawed and hung upside down only inches away from Harry's face. "But Peeves doesn't like important things, only fun things, calling the teachers on Potty would be fun."

Just as the poltergeist sucked in a lungful of unneeded air, no doubt preparing to call for a teacher, Harry allowed his aura to flare out uninhibited, only for a few seconds, but that was all he needed. Peeves froze, and looked down at him with wide eyes.

"T-trickster's heir," he muttered, the most serious Harry had ever seen him.

"Yes," the teen agreed, "I'm the trickster's heir, and I have a very important task for you."

"Peeves is listening."

* * *

Hogwarts was in complete pandemonium. Staying true to his word to McGonagall, Harry wreaked havoc through the school without even having to lift a finger. The morning after the conversation between Harry and Peeves the resident poltergeist became the very epitome of chaos and destruction, especially whenever Umbridge was around. Cackling madly, he soared through the school, upending tables, bursting out of blackboards, toppling statues and vases, twice he shut Mrs. Norris inside a suit of armor, from which she was rescued, yowling loudly, by the furious caretaker. He smashed lanterns and snuffed out candles, juggled burning torches over the heads of screaming students, caused neatly stacked piles of parchment to topple into fires or out of windows, flooded the second floor when he pulled off all the taps in the bathrooms, dropped a bag of tarantulas in the middle of the Great Hall during breakfast and, whenever he fancied a break, spent hours at a time floating along after Umbridge and blowing loud raspberries every time she spoke.

Only after a few hours of observing Peeve's sudden desire for chaos, every prankster in Hogwarts, not just Fred and George, took it upon themselves to start a school wide prank war. Common rooms were redecorated, bodies were painted violently bright hues, students were grown twice their sizes, and wild animals were released in the school at random. It had become common to see troops of monkeys screeching through the halls, flocks of auguries warbling mournfully in the rafters, herds of zebras grazing on the grounds.

But the best prank so far had been when a pair of unidentified students (though most everyone had a pretty sure guess as to who the pair was) had released an enormous, real life swamp directly in the middle of one of the main corridors.

Needless to say, the new Headmistress of Hogwarts was _not _happy.

* * *

Umbridge was granted a much needed reprieve from the relentless pranking several weeks after her appointment as headmistress when several ancient looking wizards and witches, the . and N.E.W.T. examiners, arrived at the school. The students unofficially agreed to take a brief pranking hiatus so they could complete their exams without distraction, Peeves seemed to be the only who didn't get the memo, though he focused most of his efforts now on Umbridge.

The two weeks of testing flew by in a blur of ink splattered test parchment and croaky voices requesting he transfigure this tea cozy into a tortoise or charm that pot to dance the salsa. Mornings were devoted to written exams and the afternoons to practical, until the last few days where Harry had straight written exams for his purely theoretical classes like Arithmancy and Ancient Runes and such. Before he knew it, Harry was sitting his History of Magic O.W.L. his very last, with Hermione and Blaise; a slight headache distracted him most of the way through, but he managed to finish without incident, and then finally, he was free.

"We're done," Hermione gasped, collapsing in the grass in the shade of a large tree beside the lake. "We've completed our O.W.L.s." The comment earned her a weak cheer from her exhausted friends.

"Two weeks of nonstop exams," Draco muttered, throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the merciless sun, "I'm exhausted."

"I find myself agreeing with Malfoy," Ron said. "I'm exhausted and I'm hungry."

"Dinner should be starting right about now," Neville said, checking his watch. "Let's go get something to eat."

"Can we go to the kitchens?" Harry groaned. "I've got the worst headache and I don't think going to the Great Hall would be conducive to my continued health, or anyone else's for that matter."

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked worriedly. "Do you think you're coming down with something?"

"I don't think so," Harry shrugged. "It's probably just the stress catching up to me. I'll be fine after a hearty meal and a strong cup of coffee."

"Then to the kitchens it is," Blaise proclaimed, helping Harry to his feet.

"To the kitchen!" Ron agreed.

The group marched up to the castle, chattering inanely all the way up.

"How much longer do you think Umbridge will last?" Ron asked as they crossed the Entrance Hall and headed in the direction of the basement.

"She'll be gone no more than a week after the pranking picks back up," Blaise said.

"I give her two."

"Her pride will keep her here until the end of the year, but Dumbledore won't stand for her return next year."

"Do you think Dumbledore will even be able to come back?" Hermione asked.

"Of course," Neville said. "Not even the Ministry will be able to keep him away."

"Where do you think he is? Where he's been?"

"Probably stuck in Headquarters with Sirius and Remus," Ron shrugged.

"So you know where the Headmaster is?" a nasty voice drawled. "Well, this most certainly is a pleasant turn of events."

The group of fifth years paused in their trek to the kitchen when Adrian Pucey and his gang appeared from the end of the intersecting hall and blocked their way, malicious sneers on all of their faces. Harry silently cursed his raging headache, the pain had dulled his senses and left him oblivious to the fact that they weren't the only ones in the hall.

"We all suspected you knew where Dumbledore was hiding," Pucey sneered, "but we didn't think you'd be thick enough to discuss it where anyone could overhear."

Ron flinched and frowned apologetically at Harry, who shook his head reassuringly, he wouldn't blame him for his blunder, no matter how massive.

"We don't want any trouble, Pucey," Neville frowned. "So just move and let us be on our way."

The gang of seventh years laughed mockingly. "Unfortunately, we can't do that, you have information on Dumbledore I'm sure the Headmistress would love to hear," Pucey drew his wand and pointed it at Harry, his lackeys followed suit. "Now, move."

Harry sighed and rubbed his temples wearily, but allowed himself and his friends to be ushered up to Umbridge's office.

"Well," Umbridge looked surprised when the motley group arrived in her doorway, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"They know where Dumbledore is," Norman Warrington, one of Pucey's cronies, explained. "They were talking about it on their way to the basement."

"Oh, really? Withholding important information on a dangerous fugitive is a grave transgression. However," an unpleasant smile stretched Umbridge's face, "I'm sure all could be forgiven if you spoke up now."

No one spoke a word.

"No one?"

Still there was silence.

"Very well," Umbridge said sweetly. "I offered you all the chance to tell me freely. You refused, I have no alternative but to force you." She didn't hesitate before pointing a stubby finger at Harry. "Mr. Potter, please sit." When he didn't move, she had Pucey force him into a seat. "Warrington, fetch Professor Snape."

There were several long minutes of silence as all those present waited for the arrival of the Potion Master, Umbridge shot Harry several smug looks during the wait, but the fifteen year old's face remained expressionless. Finally, just when Harry was beginning to contemplate taking a quick nap in his seat, Warrington returned with Professor Snape close behind him.

"You wished to see me, Headmistress?"

"Yes, I would like a bottle of Veritaserum," Umbridge said, "as quick as you can, please."

The previously impassive expression the man wore was replaced by one of carefully controlled surprise with just a bit of amusement. "Veritaserum?" he repeated. "I'm afraid that that is a Ministry banned substance, I wouldn't have any in my stock." Harry knew for a fact that he did, but he wouldn't be mentioning that anytime soon.

"Well, can't you make some? I give you my full permission."

"Certainly, it takes a full moon cycle to mature, so I should have it ready for you in about a month."

"A month?" Umbridge's doughy face turned an unbecoming shade of red. "But I need it this evening. I wish to interrogate Potter. I demand you provide me with a potion that will force him to tell me the truth!"

"I have already told you," Snape repeated unperturbed, "that I have no stocks of Veritaserum. Unless you wish to poison Potter I cannot help you."

"You are on probation!" Umbridge shrieked. "You are being deliberately unhelpful! Now get out of my office!"

Snape, seeming not in the slightest bit worried about being put on probation, gave a mocking little bow and swept from the office.

"Very well." Harry's attention snapped back to Umbridge, her chest was heaving and her eyes were darting madly around the room. "I am left with no alternative...this is more than a matter of school discipline...this is an issue of Ministry security...yes...yes…"

Harry had the sinking feeling that she was trying to persuade herself to do something that would end up being highly unpleasant for him.

"You are forcing me, Potter, I do not want to," Umbridge drew her wand and, before he could even think to react, Harry was bound to his chair, "but sometimes the circumstances justify the use. I'm sure the Minister would understand…the Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue."

There was a sudden surge of movement as Harry's friends made to rush at Umbridge in a group effort to overpower the squat witch, but Pucey and his gang, being both larger and stronger than the fifth years, physically restrained them.

"That's illegal," Hermione shrieked, fighting fruitlessly against her captor. "You'll be put in Azkaban and the Minister will go down with you!" A hand over her mouth quickly quieted her protests.

"No one will ever find out, my use of the curse will not leave this room," Umbridge took a steadying breath and pointed her wand at Harry's chest. "Now…_Crucio_."

The pain from Umbridge's Cruciatus was nowhere near the torture Voldemort's wrought, or even Quirrell's, it was obvious that the woman wasn't used to using the curse, but the pain was still horrible. Harry found himself unable to breathe as the pain of thousands of knives ripping into his flesh tore through him.

"That ought to do the trick," Umbridge said, ending the curse after only a few seconds. "Now tell me, Mr. Potter, where is Albus Dumbledore?"

"Have you ever been under Voldemort's Cruciatus?" Harry asked, shifting painfully in his binds. "Compared to that, this doesn't even qualify as a tickling charm."

"_Crucio_."

All Harry could do through the crippling pain was remind himself to breathe, a deep breath in and a deep one out, in and out, and maybe move his tongue away from his teeth. Harry was releasing a deep exhalation when the pain cut off abruptly, he let his head fall back in relief, but the sound of a very familiar and very dangerous drawl snapped him to attention.

"Give me one reason, you pathetic mortal, why I shouldn't kill you right here and now."

Oh, _shit_.

* * *

**A/N: That last line seems to sum things up fairly accurately. _Oh shit. _**


	13. Chapter Thirteen

"_Give me one reason, you pathetic mortal, why I shouldn't kill you right here and now."_

_Oh, shit._

* * *

Umbridge was dangling several feet off of the ground, suspended only by the hand wrapped dangerously tight around her throat. A hand that belonged to his furious father.

Umbridge let out a series of strangled grunts and twisted in Loki's grasp, but he held tight.

"Unhand me… at once," she managed to gasp around the restricting grip on her throat. "Or I will… have you arrested."

"Unhand you?" Loki hissed. "And allow you to raise your wand to another child?"

"This…this is a Ministry of Magic investigation," Umbridge choked. "What I do to determine the…the whereabouts of a very dangerous criminal is of no concern to you."

Hermione screamed when, faster than the eye could see, Loki threw Umbridge onto her desk with such force the wood splintered and collapsed, then yanked her up once again by her throat and slammed her against the unforgiving stone wall.

"Ministry investigation or not," Loki said "you made it my concern when you took it upon yourself to torture _my _son."

Harry internally groaned, well the cat was out of the bag now. So much for that secret.

"All right," he said decisively. "Dad?"

Loki at last looked to Harry, it took all of his willpower not to shy away when his father turned his gaze, full of maddened fury, onto him, never had he seen the god so angry. He must not have done that good of a job hiding his reaction as Loki noticeably took a moment to compose himself before addressing the teen.

"Yes, Haraldr?"

"If you don't let up on her, you're going to kill her."

"I'm well aware of that."

Harry stifled an exasperated sigh. "You can't kill her."

Umbridge whimpered pathetically when Loki's grip on her throat tightened causing her bones to creak audibly in protest. "Why ever not?"

"You can't just go around _killing _people, you'll get in trouble."

"No one will learn of what happened to her." Loki grinned ferally. "Her death will be a tragic accident, nothing more."

"I still have use for her."

"Of what use could shepossiblybe to you?"

"I finally have enough against her to get both her and Fudge booted from the Ministry. Now do you mind immobilizing her for the time being then getting me out of these ropes? They're chafing at my skin."

Loki seemed to go through some sort of internal struggle conflict, struggling to decide whether he should commence with his plan of torturing the little toad to an inch of her life, or heeding his son's request. It took several tense moments before he made his decision.

With much less force than he would have liked, Loki cracked Umbridge's head against the wall, not hard enough to kill her, just enough to knock her out.

The moment their leader hit the ground in a crumpled heap, Pucey and his gang broke from the stunned reverie they'd been frozen in and attempted to flee, but a small show of magic had the seventh years out cold and in an ungainly pile in the corner of the office.

"How do you manage to get yourself in these situation?" Loki growled, as he cut through the ties around Harry's wrists before moving on to his ankles.

"Pure dumb luck."

"No doubt inherited from your uncle," Loki cut through the last of the ropes, but when Harry tried to stand, he pushed him back and gently took his face in his hands. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," the teen tried for reassuring, but judging by his father's expression he didn't do a very good job of it.

"I doubt that." A cool, magic infused touch to the forehead soothed his fried nerves and calmed his trembling hands.

"Um, Harry?"

Harry turned to face his friends, the five of them were loitering nervously by the door, exchanging uneasy glances. Hermione had been the one who had spoken.

"Well…um sorry for interrupting, but…"

"What the hell is going on?"

"Eloquent as always, Ron," Harry snorted. "Right, everyone this is my dad, Dad this is everyone."

There was a beat of silence and then a soft confused, "_What?"_

"But…but Harry, you're father's dead," Hermione looked worried for a moment, as if she was afraid he'd throw a tantrum or start questioning his existence or something equally ridiculous.

"No, James Potter died."

"Yes, so isn't…"

"All right, maybe you should start from the beginning, Potter…or…." Draco faltered, looking terribly confused.

"Potter," Harry confirmed. "It make life easier for all of us."

"Okay…Potter, maybe you should start from the beginning seeing as we're making very little progress with this question and answer thing."

From her prone position on the floor, Umbridge groaned softly and began stirring.

"Later, right now we need to deal with her. And _you_," he looked to Loki, "need to leave."

Loki looked indignant. "I beg your pardon, I'm not going anywhere not after that…_woman_," he glanced distastefully in Umbridge's direction, "using the word in the lightest form possible, attacked you."

"While your desire to remain with me is greatly appreciated, and trust me it is, we need to deal with Umbridge, your presence will only complicate matters."

Loki glared halfheartedly at Harry, but relented after only a few seconds of enduring his son's pleading green eyes. "I will be at our usual spot in the forest, go there the moment you're done sorting things out and not a second later."

"Got it," Harry nodded. "But before you go, could you do something for me?"

* * *

It was nearing nine o'clock in the evening but the school was still abuzz with activity. All of the students had been assembled in the Great Hall and were, one by one, being questioned by a small group of teachers and Ministry officials, a team of Aurors selected by the ever fair Amelia Bones were ransacking Umbridge's office, searching for all sorts of dark or Ministry banned items, they were turning up with a worrying amount. Another team was interrogating Umbridge under Veritaserum, and the information they were gathering was damning for both her and Minister Fudge, while one last team was questioning Harry and his friends.

"She used the _Cruciatus_ on you?" one Auror, Proudfoot if Harry recalled correctly, gasped in horror when they reached that particular part of their tale.

"Yes, sir." Harry confirmed. "Twice."

"_Twice?_"

"Twice. One only for a few seconds, to '_loosen my tongue'_ she said, but when that didn't work she kept me under for a considerably longer period of time."

"But why would she do it in front of so many witness?" another Auror, Savage, asked. "There were eleven of you in that room, not including Mr. Potter and Dolores. How could she have believed that she would get away with using one of the Unforgiveables on you?"

"I believe she was under the assumption that we wouldn't speak of her transgressions," Blaise piped in. "In fact, I believe her exact words went something like '_My use of the curse will never leave this room._'"

"Do you think she was attempting to threaten you all into silence?"

"Perhaps," Neville shrugged. "It seemed that way to me."

"So how did you stop her?"

"Pardon?"

"How did you, Mr. Potter, go from being trussed up like a hog and under the Cruciatus to incapacitating and immobilizing a woman with far more experience than you?"

"I didn't," Harry said.

"I did." All eyes turned to Hermione, who looked the perfect picture of the remorseful schoolgirl. "Warrington, the boy who had been holding me back during the proceedings, had loosened his grip, he seemed horrified by what Umbridge was doing, everyone was, he had forgotten all about keeping a tight hold on me. So I broke free and I hit Umbridge with the banishing charm, she hit the wall and fell unconscious and I tied her up." Hermione turned large brown eyes shining with tears on the silent Aurors. They didn't stand a chance. "A-am I in trouble?" she asked softly. "I know I attacked an important Ministry official, but-but it was to protect Harry, what Umbridge was doing was _illegal_. None of the Inquisitorial Squad tried to prevent me from stopping her so I figured that if even _they_ thought she should be stopped maybe what I was doing wasn't so bad. Please don't expel me, I've worked so hard since coming here and I just finished my O.W.L.s, _please_."

As the brunette burst into convincing sobs, her friends rushed to comfort her. But even as they did, they kept a large part of their attention on the Aurors, waiting to see if their story would be believed. They had put a lot of effort into making the tale plausible, first by having Loki wipe the memory of his presence from Umbridge and her lackeys' minds and replacing it with their version of events, healing the injuries Loki had inflicted upon her, and making sure the last spells used with Hermione's wands were the banishing charm and the binding hex.

"It's all right, dear," Proudfoot said, reaching over to pat Hermione on the knee. "You won't be punished for your actions, what Umbridge was doing was wrong and you were right in stopping her. Just make sure you don't go around attacking Ministry officials whenever you so please or we'll have a problem on our hands. You look like a witch to watch out for."

Hermione shook her head fervently. "I won't, I promise! Oh, thank you, Auror Proudfoot, thank you so much."

"Think nothing of it. Now, we're all out of questions and I'm sure you kids are hungry, so why don't we head down to the Great Hall and see if there's still something lying around for us to snatch up?"

There was a general murmur of agreement as everyone stood up and began filing out of the room, they were silent as they trouped down the hallway, the only sound the slapping of their feet against the stone.

"Ah, here we are," Proudfoot beamed when they reached the Great Hall, by that time the teachers had finished questioning the students and everyone had settled down for a late dinner. "It's been awhile since I've had a dinner in the Great Hall."

"Before we head in," one of the quieter Aurors, Gibbon, said, pausing at the foot of the stairs, "do you mind if I speak with Mr. Potter for just a moment?"

"Whatever for?" Savage asked. "We've asked all of our questions."

"I have several matters of personal importance to discuss with him."

"Don't you think this can wait?" Proudfoot frowned. "The children have had a very trying few hours and right now I think it's important if we just let them relax."

"I assure you it will only take a few moments."

"After dinner perhaps, but only if Mr. Potter feels up to it."

"I'm afraid I can't wait that long."

Harry shouted in surprise when a fistful of his hair was grabbed and he was yanked against the man's chest, he scrambled to draw his wand but a muttered spell from Gibbon had his arms dangling uselessly by his side.

"Here's what we're going to do." Gibbon said, pressing his wand into Harry's temple. "Potter and I are going to go on a little evening stroll, if any of you try to stop us I'll blow a hole through his head."

"Seriously?" Harry snorted. "How many muggle movies did you have to watch to come up with that line?"

"Shut _up_, Potter."

"All right, no need to get your knickers in a twist."

As Harry spoke, he frantically tried reaching his magic out to his father to request a bit of help, but either he was too far away or the heavy magic that was the norm in the castle was thwarting his attempts.

Gibbon must have noticed his attempts at stalling for time, because, instead of responding, he began dragging Harry across the hall. Within seconds they were out of the doors and hurrying across the grounds, Proudfoot, Savage, and Harry's friends followed their progress across the grounds wands drawn and ready, but there was nothing they could do without putting Harry's life in danger. All they could do was watch as their friend and a defected Auror crossed the grounds and, once passing through the schools gates apparated away.

* * *

The sensation of apparating was much like being yanked harshly through a tube several million times smaller than your body, whirled around in winds that belonged in a category five hurricane, and then dumped unceremoniously at your destination, which, in Harry's case, was a dimly lit room with ceilings so high they were swallowed up by the darkness and towering shelves that housed thousands upon thousands of little, glowing orbs that cast the room in a pale bluish glow.

"Where are we?" Harry snarled, scrambling awkwardly to his feet, he was slowly regaining control of his arms, but they were still unable to move enough to draw his wand.

"The Department of Mysteries," Gibbon said, casting several high level locking spells at what Harry assumed to be the only exit. "More specifically the Hall of Prophecies."

"Why are we here?"

"Because there is something here that the Dark Lord needs, something that only you and he could retrieve."

"If he can retrieve it, why doesn't he?"

"Don't be foolish, boy," Gibbon scoffed. "The Ministry has so kindly been ignoring his return, why would he ruin that advantage by strolling into the Ministry to retrieve something he could easily get you to retrieve for him?"

"And what is it he wants me to retrieve?" Harry asked.

"A prophecy," the older man responded. "About you and him, I would presume. Now," he trained his wand on Harry once more, "move. Row ninety-seven."

Harry attempted to move his arms, but all he got was a depressing twitch of his fingers, it would be several more minutes before he would be able to move his arms enough to be able to cast wandlessly without hurting himself. So, with no other choice, he moved along the rows.

"_There_."

Harry's gaze followed the older man's and fell on a glassy orb, much the same as all of the others, but on the dusty, yellow label below it, inscribed in spidery writing was a date of some sixteen years previous, and below that: _S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D. Dark Lord and (?)Harry Potter._

"Pick it up," Gibbon ordered.

"I can't," Harry gestured at his immobile arms with his chin, "you've got me stuck."

A flick of the man's wand later, and Harry's arms were free. "Pick it up."

Hesitantly, Harry reached out and curled his fingers around the warm orb, after a moment's hesitation he lifted it off the shelf. The moment he did, soft clapping echoed from the shadows and both Harry and Gibbon turned to see who was approaching.

It was more than just one person, dozens of Death Eaters in black hooded robes and white masks, all with their wands drawn, detached themselves from the shadows and slowly moved closer to the pair.

"Very good, Gibbon," the Death Eater at the head of the pack commended, "the Dark Lord was unsure if your plan would work. After all, if _his _hadn't how could we possibly expect that yours would? But it seems as if wonders never cease."

Harry felt his heart sink at the familiar drawl, he heard a similar one every day.

"Mr. Malfoy," Harry greeted the man neutrally, "this is truly a disappointment. I had garnered from your son that Malfoys were at the top of the hierarchy, the best of the best, but it seems that not even you could refrain from bowing at the feet of a madman, groveling in the dirt, kissing the robes of a man who would, in any other situation be considered lesser than you simply because of his blood."

The blond man's grip on his wand became noticeably tighter, but he otherwise kept his cool. "I will not allow your loose tongue to deter me from the task at hand, boy. Now, give me the prophecy."

Harry looked down at the orb in his hand in faux surprise. "Oh this? What would you want this dusty old thing for?" He tossed it casually in the air, and relished in the sudden tensing of the elder Malfoy's body. "It wouldn't do you any good."

"I, of course, beg to differ." Lucius said through gritted teeth.

"Do you now?" The prophecy cast an arc of blue light across the floor as Harry threw it in the air once more before easily snatching it up; he had been told on many occasions that he would make an excellent Seeker, his reflexes were uncanny. "Whatever for?"

"That is none of your concern, boy. Now, give me the prophecy and we'll let you leave."

Harry laughed incredulously. "How thick do you think I am? I defied Voldemort in front of all off his precious followers, do you really think he'd let something like that slide? That man is much too prideful for his own good. If he had the opportunity to kill me, or at the very least _detain _me, don't you think he'd take the chance? I very much doubt any of you will let me be on my merry way once I hand over this prophecy."

"Enough games," a female Death Eater a few steps behind Lucius shrieked. "_Accio Prophecy_!"

In seconds, Harry's wand was drawn and he easily batted away the oncoming spell.

"Aw, wittle baby Pottie knows how to play," the woman, who Harry was rapidly beginning to suspect was the notorious Bellatrix Lestrange cackled. "How fun."

"Stop!" Lucius shouted. "If you smash the prophecy we might as well kill ourselves before the Dark Lord gets to us!"

"So this is pretty important to your boss, huh?" Harry asked, twirling the orb between his fingers. "He'd be pretty pissed if it broke?"

"Give it to me, Potter," Lucius said harshly. "Give it to me or I may not be able to hold Bellatrix back for much longer."

Ah, so it _was_ Bellatrix Lestrange. The woman was known for her cruelty and madness _before _she was thrown into Azkaban; Harry was hesitant to see what she was like now. It was time to go.

"As tempting as that sounds," Harry hedged, subtly readjusting his grip on his wand, "I don't think I will. _Reducto!_" The spell hit the shelf right above the pack of Death Eaters' heads and showered them in glass and shattered wood. As they attempted to protect themselves from the falling debris, Harry turned and dashed off into the deeper recesses of the hall, smashing and toppling shelves as he went.

"Avery! Mulciber! Guard the exit," he heard Lucius shout off in the distance. "Do not let him escape!"

Harry sheathed his wand and tucked the prophecy into his pocket, after quickly making sure that the Death Eaters were still far enough away, he grabbed the shelf hanging just over his head and hoisted himself up. The prophecies on the shelf rolled around a bit to accommodate the sudden intrusion, but by the time they settled down, he was already onto the next shelf, ascending the creaking shelves until he was just out of the Death Eaters' sight.

Comfortable with the belief that his hiding spot would remain unfound for at least a few minutes, Harry rummaged through his pockets, hoping to find his rune stone, but ended up finding something almost better; Sirius' second Christmas gift, half of the two way mirror set. On the back of the mirror was a short note from Sirius.

_This is a two-way mirror, I've got the other. If you need to speak to me, just say my name into it; you'll appear in my mirror and I'll be able to talk in yours. James and I used to use them when we were in separate detentions._

"I hope this actually works," Harry muttered, this would be the first time he used the mirror. "Sirius Black," he intoned as loudly as he dared.

For a moment, nothing happened and he was left staring foolishly at his own reflection, but then the surface shimmered and his face was replaced with Sirius'.

"Harry, oh thank Merlin! I just got a fire-call from McGonagall telling me you'd been kidnapped by a crazy Auror! Are you all right? Where are you?"

"I'm fine," Harry whispered, "but maybe not for much longer." He paused to listen for a moment, it sounded as if the Death Eaters were carefully searching every row, he had a few minutes at best before they reached him. "I don't have much time to talk," he said quickly. "Gibbon took me to the Hall of Prophecies in the Department of Mysteries, a bunch of Death Eaters are here but I managed to get away. I'm hiding from them now."

"Hall of Prophecies?" Sirius repeated. "Why did he take you there?"

"I can't explain now, it'd be appreciated if you could get someone to head down here and help me out a bit."

"Of course, I'll alert the Order."

"Fantastic, thank you and…stay safe, Padfoot."

"Shouldn't I be telling you that?"

"Nah," Harry grinned at his worried godfather, "I've got this." And with that, he deactivated the mirror and shoved it back into his pocket. Carefully, Harry peered over the edge of his perch, the Death Eaters were at most three rows away and slowly getting closer.

The shelves were only a few meters apart, so instead of making himself vulnerable and wasting precious time climbing back down to the floor, Harry clambered to the very top of the shelves, which left him at a very daunting height, and leapt. Thankfully, he didn't fall to his death, he managed to grab onto the opposite ledge and, with a bit of effort thanks to his lightly trembling arms, pulled himself up

"Wittle baby Pottie!" Harry heard Bellatrix cackle from below "Where are you?"

Harry quickly flattened himself against the shelf-top knowing there was no way she would be able to see him. Maybe he should just stay up here until the Order sent someone to rescue him.

A loud crash and the collapse of the shelf directly beside him quickly disproved that idea, besides, he didn't do damsel in distress.

Taking a moment to steady himself, Harry crept to the edge of the shelf and leapt, and almost immediately regretted it. A bright purple spell missed him by only inches, so close it singed the hairs on his arm.

"I've found him!" Bellatrix shrieked in delight. "He's on top of the shelves, the little monkey."

An ominous rumbling had Harry jumping to the next shelf just in time to avoid the collapse of his previous one. He didn't even pause to land properly before he was launching to the next one, taking incredible risks just to keep going. The Death Eaters were hot on his trail, destroying shelves he'd only just vacated.

After several exhausting minutes, Harry realized he was coming to the end of the rows. In ten or so more leaps he'd be out of shelf and the Death Eaters would get him, but that also meant the exit was close by. He just had to distract Bellatrix and whoever else was following him long enough to fight off Nott and Mulciber and make it safely out of the Hall of Prophecies.

Harry paused on top of his current shelf and calmly drew his wand (he had always worked best under pressure), it took several precious seconds, but he managed to set up a Caterwauling charm just in time to have Bellatrix trip it. The Death Eaters pursuing him stumbled to a halt as a horrible, high pitched scream rent the air.

"Shut it off!" Bellatrix shouted over the deafening noise. "Shut it off or we'll have the Aurors upon us in minutes!"

As the Death Eaters scrambled to disable his charm, Harry waved his wand and conjured a flock of golden bird, a muttered "_Oppugno_" had the birds swopping down on the Death Eaters, screeching wildly and clawing and biting at their faces.

Satisfied that they were suitably distracted for the time being, Harry leapt across the last few shelves and cautiously scrambled back to solid ground and took off running, hoping that the exit would be at the end of the row. It was, and as he already knew, it was being guarded by the two burly Death Eaters, Avery and Mulciber. Luckily, the two were more brawn than brain and were easily overpowered. Once the two were subdued, Harry slipped out of the Hall of the Prophecies and cast several high powered locking spells on the door. He knew that they wouldn't do much in trapping the Death Eaters, but it would slow them down long enough for him to get away.

"Potter!" the door shuddered under the barrage of several high powered blasting hexes.

Cursing his horrible luck, Harry frantically searched for an exit in the room he'd unintentionally barricaded himself in. It was a space filled with blindingly sparkling lights that, after Harry's eyes adjusted to the sudden light, revealed themselves to be dozens upon dozens of clocks of all sorts. At the far end of the room was an enormous crystal bell jar that seemed to be full of billowing, glittering wind. The magic that was rolling off of the jar felt old, and powerful and made Harry incredibly uneasy, so he made sure to keep his distance as he hurried down a narrow row of desks toward the only other door in the room and out into another.

This one was large and circular and lit by flickering blue candles, the entire room was painted black from floor to ceiling. Along the perimeter of the room were several doors, all were identical and handless.

Cautiously, Harry took a step toward the door closest to him, but froze when a great rumbling shook the ground and, without warning, the circular wall began rotating. Harry watched in astonishment as the wall steadily picked up speed until the candles set halfway up the wall had bled together into a single streak of neon blue. The room spun for several long seconds and then, quite as suddenly as it had started, the wall fell back into place and everything was still once again. Harry figured the spinning was used to confuse trespassers, and he was sure that it would have been very successful if the sounds of angry Death Eaters weren't floating from the room he'd previously vacated.

Without any time to contemplate the workings of the room, Harry hurried to the door closest to him and pushed against it. To his relief, it swung open without hesitation allowing him to enter a brightly lit, rectangular room that was empty save for a few desks and an enormous tank filled with pearly white objects drifting lazily in a murky green liquid. Curious, he inched closer in an attempt to figure out just what was in the tank and gasped in horror when he did. They were brains, glimmering eerily as they drifted in and out of sight in the depths of the green liquid, looking something like slimy cauliflowers.

As he was wondering just what the Ministry would need a tank full of brains for, a loud explosion followed by a triumphant shriek shook him from his observation and jolted him back into action.

Harry hurried from the brain room and almost immediately cursed his stupidity the moment the room began to spin, when it settled down he was facing a group of victorious Death Eaters standing in the doorway of the room housing the bell jar.

"Potter," Bellatrix panted, pointing her wand at him, "surrender."

"You Death Eaters sure are a persistent bunch," Harry said, "I'll give you that much."

He dove out of the way just in time to avoid a purple curse aimed at his head, he rolled up into a crouch in front of a door and, without a moment's hesitation, pushed it open and dove into the room, he slammed the door shut just in time to avoid a slew of dangerous looking curses.

This room was larger than the last, dimly lit and rectangular, and the center of it was sunken, forming a great stone pit some twenty feet deep. Harry was standing on the topmost tier of what seemed to be stone benches running all around the room and descending in steep steps like an amphitheater. There was a raised stone dais in the center of the pit, on which stood a stone archway that looked so ancient, cracked and crumbling that Harry was amazed the thing was still standing. Unsupported by any surrounding wall, the archway was hung with a tattered black curtain which, despite the complete stillness of the cold surrounding air, was fluttering very slightly as though it had just been touched.

Harry shuddered at the eerie whisper drifting up from the veil, an ominous feeling settled in the pit of his stomach and he took a step back, if he thought the bell jar was bad, whatever was down there was a thousand times worse and he didn't want to be any closer to it than he already was, but he had no choice. So, silently praying that there would be someplace to hide, or better yet, an exit at the bottom, Harry leapt nimbly down the stone benches, ducking and dodging the curses shot at his back. But when he reached the bottom, he realized that his prayers had gone unanswered, he was trapped.

"Give up, Potter," Lucius drawled clambering down the last of the stairs with the rest of the Death Eaters not far behind. "You have nowhere else to go."

"Perhaps, but I've still got something you want." He patted the pocket where the prophecy rested tauntingly.

"We could always kill you and simply take it from your corpse." Lucius raised his wand. "As a matter of fact, I think that's what we'll do, it'll certainly spare us any further troubles." As Malfoy senior's wand tip began glowing with the buildup of magic and his lips made to form the words of the deadly curse, Harry prepared himself to leap out of the way of the curse, but before either action could take place, high above them, a door burst open and Sirius, Remus, Moody, Tonks and Kingsley sprinted into the room.

Momentarily forgetting Harry, the Death Eaters spun around to face the Order members who were raining spells down on them. They leapt from step to step until they were on the ground, fighting toe to toe, Harry didn't even hesitate a second before joining the fray, gleefully tossing the most troublesome spells at the Death Eaters and helping the Order whenever it looked like they needed it.

"Harry!" Sirius shouted as he shot a petrifying spell at a Death Eater who Harry believed to be Dolohov. "I want you to get out of here!"

"I think that's a bit easier said than done, Padfoot!" Harry shouted back.

"You're as stubborn as your father."

Harry laughed as he shot down a Death Eater with a vicious blasting hex, but didn't bother responding as he suddenly found himself busy dueling Avery, the Death Eater he'd knocked out earlier in the night, and it seemed the man remembered and didn't appreciate the act as he was showing Harry no mercy. That was fine with him, the man was more talented with a wand than he'd previously been led to believe, giving Harry a welcome challenge.

Unfortunately, once the teen was really beginning to enjoy the fight, Avery caught sight of something above his head and immediately turned and fled.

"What the hell?" Harry muttered, easily preventing the fleeing man from getting far with a quick binding charm. He looked up at the entrance and had to withhold a sigh, Dumbledore had arrived and he was making his way down the benches with speed contradicting his supposed age. The Death Eaters almost immediately noticed his arrival and, like Avery, tried to make a run for it, but were almost immediately drug back by an invisible lasso conjured from the end of the Headmaster's wand.

Only one pair was still battling, seemingly unaware of the new arrival. Sirius and Bellatrix were dueling furiously, their wands were a blur and the air around them was crackling with magic.

Sirius ducked Bellatrix's spell and laughed victoriously when it splashed harmlessly against the stone. "Come on," he taunted, "you can do better than that."

The next spell him squarely in the chest, and that was when he fell.

* * *

Ice was in his veins and murder was in his eyes, never had Harry felt such an overwhelming hatred for anyone in his fifteen short years of living. Not for Umbridge who had made it her life's mission to make his existence miserable, not for the Dursley's who had belittled him for a large part of his life, not even for Voldemort who had killed his mother and stepfather and was one of the reasons he'd been forced to grow up in the Dursley's care. But Bellatrix deserved it, she deserved every last ounce of his hatred and more. She had killed Sirius, a man who was quickly becoming something of an older brother-uncle like figure, one of the few people he could actually call family. That was unforgivable.

Harry chased his quarry through the Ministry, he chased her all the way from the Department of Mysteries at the bottom of the building, to the main hall, and all the while she laughed, and she sang and she _reveled _in his pain and hatred.

Bellatrix threw a cutting hex over her shoulder and Harry only just managed to avoid getting cut clean in two by diving behind the garish Fountain of Magical Brethren.

"Did you love him, little baby Potter?" the woman taunted pausing in her mad dash across the lobby. "Did you love my dear cousin?"

"I did," Harry panted, moving around the fountain to face her, "I loved him quite a bit, but I wouldn't expect you to understand. You don't know what it's like to love someone with all of your might, to be so utterly devoted you'd be willing to do any and everything for them, and for that, I pity you."

"Don't you dare preach to me about love and devotion," Bellatrix snarled. "I who spent fourteen years in Azkaban for my lord, I who dedicated my entire life and being to him. I know more about love and devotion than you, you foolish child, could ever hope to."

"Don't confuse devotion with obsession," Harry sneered. "Your love for Voldemort, if you can even call it that, is shallow and paltry and will never be returned. Voldemort loves only one thing, power, you are nothing to him but a useless gopher he will toss away once you've run out of uses."

Twin splotches of red colored Bellatrix's otherwise deathly pale pallor. "I was and am the Dark Lord's most loyal servant. I learned the Dark Arts from him, the Dark Lord himself taught me himself, I will and always will be his protégée, his most beloved follower."

Harry laughed derisively at the furious woman. "Oh you poor misguided soul," he cooed faux sympathetically. "Voldemort couldn't care less about you or any of his followers, you all are simply a means to an end, he wouldn't waste his time entertaining such a trivial emotion as love."

"_Crucio!_"

Harry easily evaded the wildly thrown curse. "You are worthless, pathetic," he continued. "If I were the Dark Lord I wouldn't even deem you worthy of licking my boots."

"And yet your filthy mutt of a godfather fell to _my_ wand," Bellatrix shrieked, scrambling to gain control of the conversation. "So if I'm so worthless, what does that make him?"

The fury that had been bubbling just under the surface finally boiled over, the temperature in the room took a downward plunge, and Harry was suddenly inches away from Bellatrix, his face held such an intense hatred, a pang of fear shot through her heart. Hands wrapped around her neck and she screamed in fear and pain when the intense cold radiating off of them caused her skin to sizzle and burn.

"That is not something," Harry hissed dangerously, "I would be boasting about, especially not to me, and especially not when I far outweigh you powerwise."

"_Relashio_."

Harry's hands were forcefully torn from Bellatrix's neck and he stumbled back several steps while Bellatrix collapsed to the ground, panting heavily and clutching at her blackening neck.

"Why is it," Harry spun on his heel and, in one fluid motion, drew his wand and leveled it directly at the tall, pale figure that was the Dark Lord, "that whenever you're involved, all of my carefully laid plans seem to fall apart? It's quite bothersome."

"You have my sincerest apologies," Harry drawled sarcastically.

"Never mind that, I'm feeling merciful today, give me the prophecy and I'll consider forgiving you of your past misdemeanors."

"What if I don't have it anymore?"

Voldemort sighed sufferingly. "Please, Potter, we both know that you do, so just spare both you and me the trouble and hand it over."

"And if I say no?"

"Then I'll kill you."

Harry laughed mockingly "Such confident words from a man who has yet to succeed in even coming close to killing me."

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry began the incantation to conjure a stone wall, but trailed off when the golden statue of the wizard from the Fountain of Magical Brethren sprung alive and leapt from its plinth and in front of Harry, the deadly green curse bounced off of his chest and into the far wall.

Harry watched in bemusement as Dumbledore swept into the room, wand already drawn and ready, Voldemort wasted no time in sending a Killing Curse at him, but Dumbledore disappeared in a whirl of cloaks and reappeared directly behind Voldemort, he waved his wand in a large elaborate gesture and the rest of the statues sprung to life. The statue of the witch ran at Bellatrix, who screamed and sent spells streaming uselessly off its chest, before it dived at her, pinning her to the floor. Meanwhile, the goblin and the house-elf scuttled towards the fireplaces set along the wall and the centaur galloped at Voldemort, who vanished and reappeared beside the pool. The headless statue thrust Harry backwards, away from the fight, as Dumbledore advanced on Voldemort and the golden centaur cantered around them both.

"It was foolish to come here tonight, Tom," said Dumbledore calmly. "The Aurors are on their way."

"By which time I shall be gone, and you will be dead!" spat Voldemort. He sent another killing curse at Dumbledore but missed, instead hitting the security guard's desk, which burst into flames.

Harry sighed as the two wizards began to fight in earnest, it wasn't that he was wishing to be the one fighting, but he would have much preferred that Dumbledore not leap to his rescue as if he were unable to take on Voldemort himself. Perhaps it was his hubris speaking, but he believed he could do a much better job of killing Voldemort than Dumbledore was currently doing. The man was powerful, no doubt about that, but he was packing his punches when he should have been going all out. And Voldemort seemed to notice the phenomena as well.

"You do not seek to kill me, Dumbledore?" he called as he conjured an impressive silver shield to protect himself from a very powerful spell shot his way. "Above such brutality, are you?"

"We both know that there are other ways of destroying a man, Tom." Dumbledore replied calmly. "Merely taking your life would not satisfy me, I admit."

"There is nothing worse than death!"

"You are quite wrong." Dumbledore said, slowly advancing upon Voldemort. "Indeed, your failure to understand that there are things much worse than death has always been your greatest weakness."

The fight seemed to become even more heated after that brief exchange, although Voldemort continued to go for the killing blow while Dumbledore stuck to tamer, lighter spells, although they remained just as powerful as Voldemort's.

For a moment, Harry thought Voldemort would win when, while Dumbledore was fighting the same fiery snake Harry had battled a year previous, he shot a Killing Curse at the Headmaster's unprotected back, he prepared himself to step in and help if need be, but that proved unnecessary when Fawkes swooped in and swallowed the curse, the brilliant golden bird burst into flames and fell back to the floor, small, wrinkled, and flightless.

Dumbledore quickly finished off the snake and brandished his wand at Voldemort, the water in the pool rose up and covered Voldemort like a cocoon of molten glass. For a few seconds Voldemort was visible only as a dark, rippling, faceless figure, shimmering and indistinct upon the plinth, clearly struggling to throw off the suffocating mass. Then he was gone and the water fell with a crash back into its pool, slopping wildly over the sides, drenching the polished floor.

Bellatrix screamed for her master in despair, but Harry didn't think the fight was over, not yet at least, that had been much too easy.

This notion was proved by the Headmaster's next words. "Stay where you are, Harry." he said quietly, for the first time that night, he looked fearful.

Harry did as he was told, remaining half hidden behind his statue guardian while Dumbledore looked around warily. For several long moments the only sound in the room were Bellatrix's anguished sobs, but then Harry gasped and leaned heavily against the wall.

Something was trying to break into his mind, and they were doing it with all of the grace of a raging hippogriff, hacking and tearing brutally at his mind. For a moment, he felt his defenses falter under the sheer force of the attack, but then he brought them back up with a great force of will and the intruder was thrown from his mind. When his eyes, which he didn't recall closing in the first place, opened, he found both himself and Voldemort sprawled on the floor, Dumbledore stood several feet away and behind him was a group of a dozen or so Ministry employees among them was the Minister of Magic.

"Y-You-Know-Who," Fudge stuttered, looking at the fallen dark wizard in shock and fear.

"Minister Fudge." Voldemort sneered, rising gracefully to his feet. "I would like nothing more than to express just how much your turning a blind eye to my return was appreciated, but unfortunately, I must be taking my leave." Voldemort seized Bellatrix's arm, then turned and apparated from the Ministry.

"Oh merciful, Merlin's," Fudge placed a violently trembling hand over his heaving chest, "that was You-Know-Who _in the Ministry! _How can this be?"

"If you proceed downstairs into the Department of Mysteries, Cornelius," Dumbledore said, sweeping toward the group of witches and wizards, "you will find several escaped Death Eaters contained in the Death Chamber, bound by an Anti-Disapparation Jinx and awaiting your decision as to what to do with them."

"Dumbledore!" gasped Fudge, beside himself with amazement. "You-here-I-I…" he looked wildly around at the Aurors he had brought with him and it could not have been clearer that he was in half a mind to cry, "Seize him!"

"Cornelius, I am ready to fight your men, and win, again!" said Dumbledore in a thunderous voice. "But a few minutes ago you saw proof, with your own eyes, that I have been telling you the truth for a year. Lord Voldemort has returned, you have been chasing the wrong man for twelve months, it is time you listened to sense!"

"I don't…well" Fudge inflated in indignation, but deflated just as rapidly. "Very well, Dawlish! Williamson! Go down to the Department of Mysteries and see… Dumbledore, you need to explain exactly what happened tonight."

"We can discuss that after I have sent Harry back to Hogwarts."

"Harry? Harry Potter?" Fudge spun around to face Harry, who had by then climbed back to his feet and was leaning tiredly against the wall. "What is this all about? What are you doing here, boy?"

"I was kidnapped," Harry said coolly, "by one of your Aurors; and brought here to retrieve something for Voldemort."

"But that will all be discussed later." Dumbledore said firmly. "Harry, come here, my boy."

Harry, who was too tired to protest either the epithet or the orders, simply shuffled over to the Headmaster's side and accepted the portkey the man had just illegally made in front of the Minister.

"I shall see you in half an hour," Dumbledore said, then quietly began counting down until the portkey activated "Three…two…one."

* * *

The moment the portkey deposited Harry in the headmaster's office, the illegal portkey fell to the ground with a heavy _thunk_ and his legs attempted to give out on him, only sheer stubbornness kept him on his feet long enough to pull up a chair and collapse bonelessly into it. As he sat stewing in the near silence of the office, all of the events of that night caught up to him and grief attempted to overwhelm him, but this was neither the time nor the place to break down so he ruthlessly blocked off his emotions with his mental shields and tried his best to focus on anything but that night's events.

Suddenly, emerald flames roared to life in the previously empty grate, and from them stepped an exhausted looking Dumbledore. The man's sudden arrival startled the previously slumbering portraits of deceased headmasters awake, the moment they caught sight of the man they immediately began calling greeting and expressing how delighted that they were he had returned.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said softly, but his eyes remained glued to Harry's still form, slowly, he crossed the room and sank into the chair behind his desk.

"Harry." Emerald eyes snapped up, and for the first time in a long time, they were free of any animosity, or even the slightest hint of dislike, but Dumbledore would have rather seen the intense hatred than the broken, absolutely desolate look that stared up at him from the young Slytherins eyes. "I'm sure you'll be happy to hear that none of the Order was injured during tonight's events." Dumbledore said softly. "They all made it safely home."

"All but one."

The aged headmaster flinched at the emotionless response. "Yes," he agreed, "all but one. And I feel that I must apologize-"

"Don't," Harry cut him off before he could get much further into his apology. "With all due respect, I don't need nor want your apologies, Headmaster. There is nothing you could say or do to make me feel better, so, please, don't even try."

"Harry, I know that you and I have had our differences in the past, and I know that I am mostly to blame for this, the things I have done to you, whether directly or indirectly, are absolutely inexcusable. I have wronged you on so many different levels, and for that I am sincerely sorry,"

"I know you are," Harry said. "Any decent man would be, and, despite what I may have said in the past, and despite your misdeeds, I don't doubt that somewhere, beneath the hubris that has grown like a parasite since your defeat of Grindelwald, you are a good man. But that in no way excuses your actions towards me and towards my godfather."

"You are correct." Dumbledore said solemnly. "No amount of apologies on my part will ever right my wrongs. But I will _try_, I will try to make amends, I will try so very hard to atone for my sins, and in doing so I must stop treating you like a child, as, much to my chagrin, you were never given much time to be a child, and I must tell you the truth, the _whole _truth."

Harry didn't respond, he simply sat in his seat, barely breathing, and waited for Dumbledore to continue speaking.

"Voldemort tried to kill you when you were a child because of a prophecy made shortly before your birth. He knew the prophecy had been made, though he did not know its full contents. He set out to kill you when you were still a baby, believing he was fulfilling the terms of the prophecy. He discovered, to his cost, that he was mistaken, when the curse intended to kill you backfired. And so, since his return to his body, and particularly since your extraordinary escape from him last year, he has been determined to hear that prophecy in its entirety. This is the weapon he has been seeking so assiduously since his return, the knowledge of how to destroy you."

Harry slowly looked up from where he'd been staring intently at his hands to lock eyes with the headmaster. "Will it?" he asked softly. "Will it tell him how to destroy me?"

"Not destroy you, but it will certainly give him insight on how to go about any future attacks."

Harry reached into his pocket and placed the still warm prophecy onto the desk. "How do I activate it?"

"There are several different ways to activate a prophecy, but I find it simplest just to smash it."

Harry happily complied and watched impassively as the ghostly figure of Sibyll Trelawney, ex-Divination teacher and self proclaimed seer, floated above the shattered remains of the orb and spoke in a husky voice that was vastly different than her usual mysterious whisper.

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to she who has thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"_

"Either must die at the hand of the other," Harry recited softly as the ghostly figure lowly faded away into nothing, "for neither can live while the other survives. So that's it, that's my destiny, kill or be killed." He laughed bitterly. "I can't say I didn't see that one coming."

"If I could lift this burden from your shoulders and bear it myself, I would do it without a second's hesitation."

"But you can't, so there's no point in dwelling on things that can never be."

"Harry-"

"I need time to think," Harry interrupted, "I just need a bit of time to myself."

Dumbledore hesitated for a moment, but then nodded in agreement. "Of course."

Harry stood from his seat and marched brusquely to the door, but just before leaving, he paused. "I don't know what's going to happen from here," he said softly, "I don't know where to go or what to do, but I do know this. I don't like you, I don't trust you, I _barely_ respect you, but," he turned his head just enough to pin Dumbledore with an unwavering gaze, "when the time comes, I will not fight you."

Dumbledore smiled sadly "I suppose that is all I could ask of you."

Harry nodded then quickly left the office. Upon reaching the corridor outside of the newly resettled gargoyle he paused to take a deep steadying breath and to settle the emotions that were struggling to break free from their restraints. When he had regained a suitable amount of control, he set off on a leisurely pace down the hall. As he aimlessly wandered the corridors, he wondered whether he should attempt to find his friends, who he was fairly certain would still be awake, waiting for his return, or head back to his dormitory and meet up with them in the morning.

In the end, the decision was taken from him, as he was walking along the fourth floor corridor a soft humming floated from the end of the hall. Curious, Harry hurried to where the voice was resonating and found Luna absentmindedly drifting along the hall, humming softly to herself.

"Luna?" he called.

The fourth year spun on her heel and smiled happily when she caught sight of who had called out to her. "Oh, hello, my prince."

"Hello, what are you doing wandering the halls at this time of night?"

"I was waiting for you, of course."

"Of course," Harry agreed. "Where are the others?"

"Draco and Blaise are waiting for you in the snake den, Hermione, Ronald, and Neville are keeping watch outside of the dragon's keep, and his Highness is waiting at headquarters."

"My father is here?"

"Yes." Luna's usually protuberant eyes were even wider with awe and excitement. "After you were taken, Hermione, the boys, and I went looking for him in the forest, he was so furious when he found out what happened, it took a long time for us to persuade him not to storm into the castle and kill everyone. He's been frantic waiting for your return ever since, but I let him know that even though Heliopaths aren't too fond of humans, they wouldn't let any harm befall you while you were in their home. He seemed to calm down after that."

"I'm glad he did, it wouldn't do if he massacred everyone."

"Not at all," Luna agreed. "But we shouldn't keep him waiting for much longer, lest he changes his mind. I alerted the others to your return, they shouldn't be that far behind"

Harry allowed Luna to take his hand and lead him up to the seventh floor corridor where the door leading to the Room of Requirements was already visible. The blonde Ravenclaw threw the door open and skipped into the room. "Your Highness," she sang, "Harry's back."

"Thank the gods." Harry barely had time to register his father's face, lined with worry, before he pulled him into a bone crushing hug. Harry immediately melted into the embrace; no matter how old he grew, he knew that he would always feel safe in his father's arms. It took all of his impressive willpower not to allow his emotions loose and finally break down.

Much too soon for his liking, Loki pulled away from Harry just enough to cup his face in his hands and study his face intently. "Are you all right, little trickster?"

Harry felt tears well up in his eyes as he took in the tender gaze his father pinned him with, but he forced them back and nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Fine?" Loki repeated dubiously.

Harry looked down. "Fine."

Loki didn't look as if he believed him, but he allowed it to slide as, at that moment, Hermione, Ron, and Neville burst into the room, Draco and Blaise were close behind.

"Harry!" the dark haired boy stumbled back several steps when the bushy haired brunette tackled him in a rib crushing hug. "Oh, thank Merlin."

"Hey, Hermione," Harry said, giving her a gentle squeeze around the waist. "You all right?"

"Am I all right? Who cares about me? Are _you_ all right?"

Harry attempted to smile, but his muscles refused to comply, so it came off as more of a pained grimace "I'm fine," he assured her.

"But what happened?" Blaise asked, gently pushing Hermione aside so he could pull Harry into a quick one armed hug. "We tried to talk to McGonagall about what was going on, but she knew just about as much as we did."

Harry sighed "All right, let's sit down and I'll tell you what happened."

Everyone hurried to pull up a seat and focused all of their attention on Harry as he quietly recounted how Gibbon had apparated him to the Department of Mysteries and how he had forced him to collect the prophecy meant for him and the Dark Lord. He tried to detail the arrival of the Death Eaters as quickly and vaguely as possible, but Draco was having none of that.

"Wait," the blonde interrupted, looking up from where he'd been studying his hands with a small frown on his face. "You keep saying _they_ when you refer to the Death Eaters, but you haven't referred to them by name. You know who they were, don't you? W-was my father there? Was he one of the ones trying to kill you?"

Harry nodded silently.

"And he was there last year too, wasn't he? During the Dark Lord's resurrection?"

Again another nod.

Draco sucked in a pained breath and closed his eyes. "I knew that, of course I knew that, he's been bragging about it all summer, but to know that he tried to kill you…it just seems so much more real now." He wiped a hand across his eyes and glared at the ground. "Keep going, Potter."

After a few moments of hesitation, Harry launched back into his story, grimly detailing his escape over the shelves housing the thousands of prophecies, his mad dash to find the exit in the rotating room, and how, when he failed, he was cornered in the room housing the cursed veil.

He detailed the layout of the room and the foreboding feeling that settled in his stomach when he approached the veil, but when he reached the Order's intervention he faltered. If he told them what had happened in the chamber only an hour or so previous, it would become all the more real, he would no longer be able to hold onto the meager hope that tonight's events had been nothing more than a horrible dream.

"Harry?" Hermione whispered anxiously.

The dark haired boy took a moment to gather his courage before soldiering on. "I was cornered, tired, and outnumbered," he said softly. "I had half a mind to give up the prophecy, just to see if they'd actually let me go unharmed. Right when I was about to actually hand it over, the Order arrived and engaged them in a fight, I joined in a bit and it was going well. I downed a few Death Eaters and helped keep the rest from killing the Order. Dumbledore arrived about ten minutes into the fight, and when the Death Eaters saw him most of them gave up the fight. Most of them." Harry's hands curled into fists in his lap. "Sirius and Bellatrix were fighting, and Dumbledore's arrival did nothing to stop that. They were pretty evenly matched and seemed to be having a good time of it, but they were getting cocky. Bellatrix overshot a spell and missed Sirius, he laughed and taunted her. The next spell didn't miss." Harry let out a soft shaky breath. "It didn't look like a deadly spell, a disarming spell or maybe a stunner, but it had enough power behind it to send him back a few steps and he-he fell through the veil. I expected him to fall out from the other side, but he didn't so I tried to go after him." Harry's voice sounded dead even to his own ears. "Remus stopped me though, told me that there was nothing I could do, that he was dead."

Hermione gasped in horror, tears were streaming down her face, Neville, Draco, Luna, Blaise, and Ron looked stunned, but Harry could see the beginnings of grief keeping into their eyes. Loki, the only one who hadn't known Sirius, wrapped a comforting arm around Harry's shoulders and drew him closer to his side.

Drawing strength from his father's strong presence, Harry forced himself to continue speaking. "When he told me that Sirius was dead, I didn't believe it at first, there was no way a dusty old piece of drapery could succeed where both Voldemort and Azkaban had failed. But when he didn't come out, I realized that maybe he really was dead, and that got me so angry, I wanted revenge, so I went after Bellatrix, who had fled after sending Sirius through the veil. I chased her through the ministry all the way up to the atrium, she tried to curse me, but when that didn't work she tried to goad me into becoming reckless, I taunted her about her obsession with the Dark Lord and then I tried to kill her, and I would have succeeded if Voldemort hadn't shown up."

Hermione let out a low moan of terror.

"We only got to exchange a few words before Dumbledore showed up and distracted him." He purposely left out how Voldemort had tried to hit him with a Killing Curse. "They fought for a bit, but when it became obvious that they were at a stalemate, Voldemort tried something, I think he was trying to possess me, but he couldn't get past my shields. The Minister and a few Ministry officials showed up, Bellatrix and Voldemort fled, and Dumbledore portkeyed me back to his office."

"So Fudge actually saw You-Know-Who?" Blaise asked. "And there were witnesses present?"

"Yeah." A small smile tugged at the corner of Harry's lips. "I'm afraid he won't be able to deny his return any longer, hopefully that'll kick the fools in the Ministry into gear and they can _finally_ start preparing for war."

"Hopefully," Neville agreed, he let out an enormous sigh and leaned back in his seat, he still looked shaken by the recounting of Sirius' death. "This has been a long night, I'm just glad it's over." His eyes narrowed at Harry's hesitant expression. "Isn't it?"

"Well, I didn't come here the moment I arrived back at Hogwarts, Dumbledore wanted to speak with me."

"About what?" Ron asked.

"Well, first he wanted to apologize for every wrong he's ever done me, then, in an attempt to make up for his past misdeeds, he decided to stop keeping secrets from me and tell me why Voldemort wanted me to retrieve that prophecy, which meant he had to explain why he tried to kill me when I was a baby."

"Of course," Blaise groaned. "The prophecy he wanted you to retrieve, it was about the two of you wasn't it? That's why he attacked you and your parents."

"Yes," Harry said. "The prophecy was describing the only person who would be able to defeat the Dark Lord."

"Does it-does it mean you?" Hermione stammered.

"Yes."

"Do you know the exact wording?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell us?"

Harry sighed, then recited the prophecy by memory. _"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to she who has thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"_

A heavy, oppressive silence followed the ominous prophecy.

"No." The seven teens, sitting lost in thought, startled when Loki shot to his feet with a snarl and began furiously pacing back and forth across the room. "No," he repeated, "I won't allow it."

"Dad," Harry sighed.

"No, Haraldr! Your life will not be directed by this asinine prophecy. You will not fight that creature and that's final."

"I'm going to have to eventually," Harry said patiently. "Prophecy or not, Voldemort will come after me, I've defied him countless times, made a fool of him in front of his followers, and refused to die when he tried to kill me. It's a point of pride now, he'll either kill me to prove that no one can defeat him, or he'll die trying."

Loki scowled, but Harry could see that he had not found another point to argue. "Why must you be such a reckless, battle hungry, foolhardy _Thor_?"

"I couldn't get all of the good genes."

"Harry?" Hermione spoke up tentatively. "I know tonight's been pretty rough for you, so you don't have to tell us if you don't feel up to it, but we would really like to know what this," she gestured at Harry and Loki, "is."

"I did promise," Harry sighed. "And it'd be better to just get everything out of the way. All right, time to properly introduce everyone. Dad these are my friends, Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom, Blaise Zabini, and Hermione Granger, guys, this is my father, Loki Odinson."

"_Loki Odinson?_" Draco snorted. "That's funny, Potter, absolutely hilarious."

"I don't get the joke," Hermione said.

"Some of the really old blooded families," Neville explained, "still worship the gods who they believe were the ones to grant them with magic. Among them are Loki, son of Odin, the god of mischief and lies."

"And you believe these…myths to be true?" Hermione asked skeptically.

"All myths have some truth to them," Neville said, glancing uncertainly at Loki, "some more so than others. Who's to say it isn't true?"

"But it is," Luna protested, looking to Loki with star struck eyes. "Can't you see it? His aura is so strong and beautiful. The snufflupods must love you."

"What does that even mean?" Hermione sighed, clearly frustrated.

"Never mind that," Draco snapped. "Potter, could you please explain what the hell is going on here?"

Harry sighed, he was both physically and emotionally exhausted, all he wanted to do was curl up in his bed, have a good cry, and then sleep for the next week. Spending the night persuading his friends that his father really was more than human was the last thing he wanted to do.

"I, Haraldr Ivarr Kaden Lokison, otherwise known as Harry James Potter, solemnly swear upon my life and magic that my father, Loki son of Odin, is an Æsir hailing from Asgard, one of the nine realms." A rope of golden magic twined itself around Harry, then sank into his skin.

"Harry…" Hermione gasped, but fell silent when he drew his wand and lit the tip with a _Lumos_.

"As you see, I still have my magic, so I wasn't lying."

The realization that they were in the presence of a god seemed to sink in and suddenly everyone, save for Harry and Luna, were scrambling out of their seats and bowing and stuttering excited and overawed greetings.

"There's no need for that," Loki said, though he looked inordinately pleased. "You are friends of my son, there is no need to bow to me."

"You're really a god," Hermione stammered excitedly. "Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, could you tell me all about Asgard. And the gods, what are they like? And your brother, Thor, is he real as well? And-and-"

"Bloody hell, Hermione," Ron exclaimed. "Breathe for Merlin's sake!"

"I'll explain all of your questions in the morning, child," Loki said laughingly, "but, if none of you mind, I'd like to speak with Harry about a few things."

"Of course," Luna said immediately, she leapt to her feet and dipped into a curtsey. "Good night, your Highnesses."

"Hang on," Neville gasped seeming to come to a sudden realization. "You knew!"

"Knew what?" Ron asked.

"The night we met Luna she said…" Neville paused, struggling to remember the words spoken all that time ago. "She said you were the trickster prince!"

"You remember that?" Blaise asked. "That was over a year ago."

"I thought it was odd," Neville shrugged. "So did you?" he asked Luna. "Did you know before we did? And if you did, _how_?"

"The nargles told me."

"Right," Hermione said, she had always been the most vocal in her disbelief in Luna's creatures, but lately she'd been far less skeptical. "Anyway, we'll be going now um…Mister…uh, Lord, your Highness."

"Loki will do just fine," Harry's father laughed. "I'm not one for titles."

"All right then, good night, Mr. Loki, Harry."

"Good night."

After the teenagers had left the room, calling their goodnights as they went, Harry sighed and rested against Loki's shoulder.

"How are you?" Loki asked.

"I'm fine," Harry murmured.

"_Harry_."

"I'm _fine_."

Loki pulled away and glared pointedly down at Harry. "I am your father, Haraldr, I've known you since you were a child, small and defenseless against those disgusting creatures who dare call themselves your relatives. And what's more, I'm the god of _lies_, I know when someone is lying to me, especially you. So, I'll ask you again, and this time I expect an honest answer, how are you?"

Harry sighed and buried his face in Loki's shoulder, like he had when he was a child seeking comfort. "Sirius is dead."

"I know," Loki said softly, gently running a hand through his son's hair. "I know it hurts, and I know that you're trying to hold it all in, bottle all the pain and the grief up and push it aside, but you can't it's not safe, you have to let go, you can't always be in control."

"I can't let go."

"And why not?"

"Because I'm scared that if I let myself break down I won't be able to put myself back together when I'm done."

"If you aren't I'll be here," Loki whispered. "I'll help you put yourself back together again."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

Harry allowed Loki to pull him into his arms, and for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to lose control, and he cried.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Harry had never liked the summer, neither the season nor the break that it entailed brought forth particularly fond memories. The heat, as he had already come to realize, made him irritable, on a good day, and it didn't help that he was stuck in the house with his insufferable relatives and was constantly being guarded (read: stalked) by a group of lackluster vigilantes hired by the Headmaster.

He only had to wait one more week before the blood wards would be set for another year and his relatives would be safe from the likes of Voldemort, although at times he wondered if it was really worth it. No matter how horrible a thought it was, Harry knew that if something were to happen to the Dursleys he wouldn't mourn their deaths, just like he knew they wouldn't mourn his, in fact, he wouldn't put it past Vernon to throw a party in the wake of his death. There would be no love lost, not a single tear would be shed if the Dursley's were to just keel over dead at the dinner table.

That didn't mean Harry was heartless, far from it in fact, he had shed many a tear for his recently deceased godfather, he'd raged and he'd screamed and he'd cried in the privacy of the Room of Requirements that night. But, just as he'd promised, once Harry had spent the last of his energy, Loki had begun to help his son pull himself back together again. It was an ongoing process, Harry had yet to return to his usual chatty self, and it was doubtful that he would. This was the first life taken in the approaching war, but it wouldn't be the last and Harry knew that, many more would die before Voldemort and his sycophants fell.

Harry sighed and shifted uncomfortably on his bed, he had thrown his single window as wide as it would go and had stripped down to his briefs, but it did little to beat back the midsummer heat. The little air that blew into his bedroom was heavy with the perspiration of thousands of poor, overheating souls.

The next sigh was drowned out by the heavy beating of the wings of a nondescript, brown barn owl.

"Hello, there." Harry said, pulling himself into a sitting position, and holding out an arm for the owl to land on. "Who do you belong to?"

The owl hooted softly, and allowed Harry to retrieve the letter attached to his leg. The face of the parchment was marked with his name, written in a familiarly elegant scrawl.

"This is from Draco? Where's Ares?" he murmured in confusion. Not only was this the first letter he'd received from Draco all summer, but it wasn't sent with his usual majestic eagle owl, Ares.

Harry cracked the hastily stamped seal and unfurled the letter, his brow furrowed when he saw the unsteady script covering only a small part of the parchment in a shaky scribble.

_Potter, _

_The Dark Lord has taken up residence in Malfoy Manor. He is displeased with my family for Father's failure this past year and has seen fit to punish us all accordingly._

_He wants me to take his mark, I am to receive it this coming Friday, if I refuse it he will kill me._

_I plan to leave tonight, if you can lend me aid, please meet me at the Leaky Cauldron at midnight._

_Room 23._

_Draco_

Harry cursed and leapt from his bed, a quick glance at the clock told him that it was a half hour to midnight. Hastily, he shoved on a shirt and trousers, then grabbed his wand and threw on a cloak before hurrying down the stairs.

He stopped in the doorway of the living room where all three Dursleys were sitting, watching their nightly program. He cleared his throat softly and, suddenly, all of their attention was focused on him.

"A friend of mine is in trouble," he told them. "I will be bringing him here and, only if I receive your permission of course, he will be remaining here until I leave in a week's time. Will you allow it?"

The Dursley's exchanged horrified glances, there was no way they'd allow another freak in their house, but despite his pleasant tones and polite statement, they all knew that it wasn't a request.

"Of course," Petunia said, glancing quickly at her red faced husband. "Shall I change the sheets in the guest room?"

"There's no need for that, I'm sure he'll feel much more comfortable in my bedroom. If you could have Vernon or Dudley bring the cot down from the attic and perhaps leave out a clean set of sheets, I would be incredibly grateful."

Petunia nodded.

"Thank you. I'll be back in an hour or so."

Harry left his relatives in the living room, and stepped briskly into the muggy night air. The soft snores and faint aroma of alcohol drifting from behind Petunia's rose bushes told him that his guard for the night was out for the count, but he still made sure that Privet Drive was out of sight before summoning the Knight Bus.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Stan Shunpike and I will be your conductor this evening. Where would you like to go this evening?"

Harry glanced at his watch, he had a little less then fifteen minutes to get to the Leaky Cauldron. "I'll give you two galleons if you can get me to the Leaky Cauldron in the next ten minutes."

Stan's eyes latched on to the two golden coins Harry held up for him. "I'm sure we can make a few changes to our schedule, sir," he said, bowing Harry onto the bus. "Oi, Ernie!" he called to the elderly wizard manning the wheel. "Next stop, the Leaky Cauldron!"

"Leaky Cauldron, got it."

Harry only just managed to stumbled into a seat before the bus took off at frightening speeds, he winced when the triple-decker only just managed to miss several cars, a few dozen lampposts, and an elderly woman taking quite some time to cross the street. He was grateful for more than one reason when the bus pulled up in front of the Leaky Cauldron not even ten minutes later.

"Thanks," he said, before marching briskly off of the bus and into the little pub.

Despite the late hour, the Leaky Cauldron was packed to the gills with a whole assortment of people, there were witches drinking enormous glasses of what he would have assumed to be Firewhiskey if it weren't for the drinks' bright pink coloring, oddly furry men consuming several pounds of a raw meat, and more than its fair share of hooded characters.

Harry made sure that his hood too was firmly in place before slipping into the pub, he nodded at Tom in greeting, before heading up the stairs to the private rooms. He hurried down the hall and, when he reached room twenty-three, knocked sharply on the wooden door.

He heard light footsteps cross the room, then the soft, frightened voice just on the other side of the door, "Who is it?"

"The Trickster Prince."

There was a beat of silence, then, "What's your most well-kept secret?"

Harry glanced cautiously around the empty hall, then whispered, "Loki."

The door opened just enough for Harry to slip in and come face to face with a pale faced, Draco Malfoy.

"What did you tell me in our second year when I nearly worked myself to death?"

"I told you that you would kill yourself if you continued searching for Slytherin's monster with such ridiculous zeal, then I dragged you to the Great Hall where I force fed you until you threatened to throw up all over my new shoes."

Harry finally relinquished the tight grip he had on his wand and took a moment to observe his friend and he wasn't pleased with what he saw. Draco's usually pale face was now an unhealthy gray, the skin beneath his bloodshot gray eyes was marred with dark semi-circles that spoke of countless sleepless nights, his usual neat blond hair was in complete disarray and looked as if it hadn't been washed in several days, and his entire body shook with what Harry suspected was more than just fear.

"They really did a number on you, didn't they?" Harry asked quietly.

Draco attempted to laugh, but it came off as more of a strangled wheeze. "I know," he said, smoothing his robes with violently trembling hands, "you don't need to tell me how terrible I look."

"It's not exactly what I'm used to," Harry said, allowing his friend's poor attempt at humor for only a second before turning serious. "How bad is it?" he asked. "The nerve damage."

"The longest I was under the Cruciatus for about three minutes, but that was no more than four times a day, so I'm fine."

Harry's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Yeah, right. If you need potions tell me and I'll get them for you."

"I'm fine," the blond said firmly. "I just need a cup of tea and a proper's night sleep and I'll be golden."

Harry still wasn't convinced, but he let it go for the moment. If Draco was still shaking come morning, he would drop by Diagon Alley to pick up a few nerve healing potions.

"Alright, come on then," he said, gesturing to the door. "We should probably get back to my place."

"Is it safe?" Draco asked hesitantly. "I don't think anyone will have noticed my absence just yet, but when they do they'll send someone out to find me, I know too much."

"It's one of the safest places you could be outside of Hogwarts," Harry said reassuringly. "It's certainly much safer than here."

"Alright, let's hurry up then," Draco conceded.

The two teens left the tentative safety of the room where they moved quickly and efficiently through the pub. They were able to summon the Knight Bus without a single problem, but Draco didn't relax until they were safe inside of the wards blanketing the Dursleys' home.

The house was silent, the Dursleys had obviously gone to sleep, or at least retreated to their bedrooms, the lack of window rattling snores indicated that at least the Dursley males were still awake.

"Do you want that tea now," Harry asked, "or do you just want to head up to bed?"

"Tea can wait."

Harry nodded and led Draco up the stairs and to his bedroom. "The bathroom is the door directly to the right," he said as Draco examined the sparsely decorated room in interest. "Did you bring anything with you when you left?"

Draco nodded and produced a shrunken down trunk. "I got all that I could without raising suspicion," he enlarged the trunk with a tap of his finger then collected a few things from one of the compartments. "First door on the right?" he asked, and when he received the affirmative, left the room to prepare for bed.

A half an hour later, both teens were settled down in their respective beds, prepared for a long night of sleep. But just before Harry drifted off, a whisper from across the room startled him awake.

"Thank you, Harry."

* * *

The tension in the kitchen the morning after Draco's arrival hadn't been so thick since that fateful dinner with Vernon's detestable sister, Marge, all of those years ago. Vernon spent most of breakfast hiding behind his newspaper, only surfacing long enough to shove several kippers and a few spoonfuls of egg into his mouth, Dudley and Petunia focused all of their attention on their breakfast, doing everything in their power not to look at the two teenage wizards sitting across from them, one of whom was stoically eating the breakfast he'd been served while the other calmly read a small pile of mail.

"The others have been going spare trying to get in touch with you," Harry said conversationally as he popped the seal off of a letter delivered to him just that morning. "Blaise especially, his last letter said that he would call the Aurors if he didn't hear from you by the end of this week. I'll write him after breakfasts, as well as…ah."

Draco looked up from his plate. "What is it?" he asked worriedly.

"Dumbledore." Harry snorted inelegantly. After his conversation with the headmaster at the end of last year, his hatred for the man had calmed to a slight disdain. "One of the Order members watching the house apparently witnessed our arrival last night and informed him of it. He felt the need to express his disapproval of my 'reckless behavior.'"

"There are Order members watching the house?"

Harry looked up from the letter in surprise. "Yes, didn't I mention that last night?"

"No, Potter," Draco drawled, regaining a smidgen of his usual snark, "you failed to mention that one important detail."

"I _did _say this was probably one of the safest places outside of Hogwarts with all of the wards Dumbledore put up. And you're not allowed to call me Potter anymore."

"And why ever not?"

"Because you called me Harry last night."

"You clearly caught me in a moment of weakness," Draco sniffed.

Harry laughed at his friend's haughty expression. "If you don't start calling me by my given name I'll tell Pansy Parkinson the reason you ignore her advances is because you're too shy to admit your feelings for her."

The haughty expression fell away and was immediately replaced by one of horrified disgust. "You wouldn't."

"You seem to forget sometimes that I'm just as much a Slytherin as you."

"Fine," Draco huffed, sullenly stabbing at his eggs, "you win, bastard."

* * *

_Dear Harry, _

_If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven p.m. to escort you and Mr. Malfoy to the Burrow, where you both have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holidays. _

_If you are agreeable, I should also be glad of your assistance in a matter to which I hope to attend on the way to the Burrow. I shall explain this more fully when I see you. _

_Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. Hoping to see you this Friday, _

_I am yours most sincerely, _

_Albus Dumbledore_

* * *

"What time is it?" Draco whined for what felt like the hundredth time in just the past half hour.

"Exactly the same time it was when you asked me ten seconds ago," Harry said patiently.

"What's taking so long?" Draco moaned. "Why is time moving so slowly?"

"Maybe if you found something to do," Harry said as he wrote out a line for his potion's essay, "you'd find that you'll not only no longer be bored, and time will have passed much faster."

"But there's nothing to do."

"Have you completed your transfiguration essay?"

"No."

"What about the Ancient Runes packet?"

"No."

"Astronomy worksheet?"

"No."

"Have you done _any _work this summer?"

"No."

Harry sighed in exasperation. "Then, I'm sure you'll find that you have more than your fair share of things to do."

"Alright, let me rephrase that, there's nothing _interesting _to do."

"Really? I'm finding this potion essay to be absolutely thrilling."

"Yes, well you're a nerd, Potter." Draco groaned at the meaningful glare shot his way. "_Harry_."

Harry smiled in satisfaction as he focused his attention, once again, on his nearly completed essay.

"What time is it?"

Harry was preparing to throw his textbook at Draco's head when the street lamp directly outside of his window went out.

"What was that?" Draco whispered, grabbing at his wand.

"Dumbledore," Harry said, watching as the familiar figure walked up the garden path. "Give me a second to make sure it's really him."

The chiming of the doorbell had him hurrying down the stairs and to the door before his relatives could heave themselves off of the couch. "Headmaster?" he asked, cracking the door open only a fraction of an inch. "Is that you?"

"It is," came the reply.

"Who can live if the other survives?"

There was a sad sigh from the other side of the door, then, "Neither."

Harry swung the door open the rest of the way, and allowed Dumbledore to enter the house. "I apologize, but I had to be sure."

"Don't apologize at all, my boy," Dumbledore said. "It is always best to be cautious, especially during these troubling times."

Harry nodded in agreement, then hastened to retrieve Draco and their respective trunks.

"Is it safe?" the blonde whispered.

"As safe as it can be with Dumbledore around."

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore beamed when the two boys, joined him in the hall, trunks and owl cages in tow, "I trust you are doing well."

"As well as can be expected, sir," Draco replied stiffly.

"Good, good, I'm quite glad. If you don't mind, I would like to discuss something of great importance with you when we arrive at the Burrow."

"If you're hoping that I can give you any information on the Dark Lord, sir," Draco said tonelessly, "I'm afraid that I won't be of much help. Malfoy Manor is protected by a several powerful and very dark wards, I would be reduced to a pile of ashes before I could even begin to tell you where the manor is located."

"I understand completely, my boy, I won't risk asking you the whereabouts of your family home, but perhaps you could help shed some light on Voldemort's plans."

Draco snorted softly. "I was not privy to any information as I had not yet been marked, the only time I ever saw him was when he was torturing me for my father's failures."

"Oh dear," Dumbledore winced, "I apologize if I have brought forth any unpleasant memories, it seems that in my zeal to gain the upper hand in this fight with Voldemort, I forgot the crimes that were inflicted upon you."

Draco nodded silently.

"Ah," the awkward moment was relieved by the arrival of the three Dursleys, "Petunia, Vernon, it's been a while, this must be your son Dudley." Draco and Harry exchanged amused glances, Dudley had chosen that moment to peer around the living room door, his large, blond head rising out of the collar of his pajamas looked oddly disembodied, his mouth gaping in astonishment and fear. "It's been some time since I've been on Privet Drive, I must say your agapanthus are flourishing."

"Thank you," Petunia said stiffly, "I make sure they are well cared for. So you're here to pick up Harry up?"

"Yes, he and Draco we'll be relocating to the family home of one of their close friends, they will be remaining there until they return to school."

"I see." The Dursley's visible relaxed at the news.

"Would you…like a drink?" It seemed to cause Vernon great physical pain to address Dumbledore, let alone invite him further into his home and allow him to drink from one of his glasses, but Harry was impressed nonetheless.

"I'm afraid I am unable to, we have much to do tonight and very little time to do it in, but I appreciate the offer."

Vernon nodded.

"Well, I suppose we'll see you next summer, Harry," Petunia said uncomfortably. "And it was a pleasure to have you in our home, Mr. Malfoy, we are glad we could lend some assistance in your time of need."

Harry almost believed the sincerity behind her words, Dumbledore certainly did.

"Well, I daresay this visit has been a pleasure," he said genially, "but I'm afraid we must be off."

With one last nod to his relatives, the odd group of three trouped out of the house and down the walk, they continued at a leisurely pace down the street until they reached the very end of Privet Drive.

"This will do," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Before we set off to the Burrow and the wonderful meal I'm sure Molly has prepared for us, would it be too much trouble if we were to make a quick stop?"

"To where, Headmaster?" Draco asked.

"To the charming village of Budleigh Babberton. I have lost count of the number of times I have said this in recent years, but we are, once again, one member of staff short. I would like to see if I can persuade an old colleague of mine to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts."

"I suppose that would be alright," Harry said, glancing questioningly at Draco who nodded hesitantly.

"Excellent, well, you both will need to hold on to my arm very tightly. My left, if you don't mind, my wand arm is a little fragile at the moment." Harry glanced curiously at his right arm, and caught sight of a curse blackened hand before it was covered by Dumbledore's sleeve.

Harry and Draco carefully grasped Dumbledore's left arm.

"Very good," the man said. "Now, let us be off."

Harry felt Dumbledore's arm twist away and readjusted his grip, the world around him was plunged into inky darkness, and he gasped for air as he was stretched and compressed all at once.

After several long seconds, Harry's feet hit solid ground and he was able to take in several much needed lungfuls of air.

"Are you all right?" Dumbledore asked the two gasping teens, both of whom nodded reassuringly before straightening to their full heights. "Very good, now this way."

The trio walked in comfortable silence for several long minutes, passing several large houses, all of which looked eerily deserted, walked up a steep hill or two, and turned along multiple twisting streets.

"This is the place," Dumbledore said, jolting Harry from the dazed stupor he'd fallen into somewhere along the fifth street.

They were nearing a small, neat stone house set in its own garden, but Harry paused when he caught sight of the house, as did Dumbledore and Draco.

"Oh dear," Dumbledore murmured. "Oh dear, dear, dear."

The lawn and the carefully tended path looked perfectly undisturbed, but the door was hanging off of the hinges, as if it had been subjected to a particularly strong blasting curse.

"Wands out and follow me," Dumbledore said as he opened the gate and walked swiftly and silently up the garden path. He pushed the hanging front door open very slowly, his wand raised and at the ready. They moved carefully along a long, narrow hallway and through a door that led into the sitting room.

"Lumos."

Draco made a small noise of surprise when the soft glow emanating from the tip of Dumbledore's wand illuminated the spacious room, bringing its devastated state into sharp detail. A grandfather clock lay splintered at their feet, its face cracked, its pendulum lying a little farther away like a dropped sword. A piano was on its side, its keys strewn across the floor. The wreckage of a fallen chandelier flittered nearby. Cushions lay deflated, feathers oozing from slashes in their sides, fragments of glass and china lay like powder over everything. Dumbledore raised his wand even higher, so that its light was thrown upon the walls, where something dark red and glutinous was spattered over the wallpaper.

"Well, this is unfortunate."

"Unfortunate?" Draco repeated shrilly, he was staring at the aging headmaster as if he had suddenly sprouted another three heads. "This man was dragged off by Death Eaters, or maybe even You-Know-Who, and all you can say is that it's _unfortunate_?"

"Oh, no need to worry, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said, still completely unfazed as he peered behind an overstuffed armchair, "I don't think Horace has been dragged off by Voldemort or his followers. In fact, I have reason to believe he's still here."

Oddly enough, Draco didn't seem too comforted by the thought.

"Do you think he's still alive, professor?" Harry asked, surveying the room critically.

"Of that I have no doubt."

Then, with no further warning, Dumbledore swooped forward and stabbed his wand into the unsightly armchair, which yelled, "Ouch!"

Harry looked on in surprise as the chair seamlessly morphed into an enormously fat, bald, old man who was massaging his lower belly and squinting up at Dumbledore with an aggrieved and watery eye.

"What gave me away?" the man grunted as he staggered to his feet, still robbing his stomach.

"My dear Horace," said Dumbledore, looking amused, "if the Death Eaters really had come to call, the Dark Mark would have been set over the house."

"The Dark Mark," he muttered. "Knew there was something… ah well, wouldn't have had time anyway, I'd only just put the finishing touches to my upholstery when you entered the room."

"Would you like help cleaning up?"

"Please."

With only a few sweeping waves of their wands, the two wizards easily put the room back in order, repairing the broken objects scattered across the room, vanishing the carpet of dust, and siphoning the thick, red liquid from the wall.

"Now that that is through," Dumbledore said, cheerfully pocketing his wand, "I believe introductions are in order. This is Harry and his close friend, Draco, boys, this is an old friend and colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn."

Slughorn's eyes widened as he took in first Draco, then Harry, then Harry's scar. "So this is how you thought you'd persuade me," he said, turning to glare at Dumbledore. "Well, the answer is no, Albus."

"I suppose we can have a drink, at least?" Dumbledore asked hopefully. "For old time's sake?"

Slughorn hesitated, but finally conceded, albeit incredibly unenthusiastically.

After being served tea by their disgruntled host, Dumbledore and Slughorn exchanged small talk while Harry and Draco quietly sipped at their drinks. The conversation was fairly boring at first, the two elder wizard compared symptoms of their old age, retirement, and the steps Slughorn had taken to prepare for their arrival. But it slowly evolved until they were discussing why Slughorn had taken such steps to make someone believe he had been killed. Apparently, the Death Eater's were interested in recruiting Slughorn to their side, though Harry was still uncertain of what use the old man would be to the Dark Lord.

"Are you leaving?" Slughorn asked hopefully when Dumbledore abruptly stood from his seat.

"No, I was wondering whether I might use your bathroom."

"Oh," Slughorn said, clearly disappointed, "second on the left down the hall."

Dumbledore left the room and Draco, Harry, and Slughorn were left sitting in a somewhat stilted silence.

"Don't think I don't know why he brought you," Slughorn finally said, standing with a bit of effort and hobbling over to the fire.

Harry laughed softly and took a sip of his tea. "I think we all know why he brought me here. He's not one to do things halfway, the headmaster."

Slughorn's watery eyes slid over Harry's scar once again, then continued on to study his face with discomfiting intensity. "You're not exactly what I expected," he said.

"What _did _you expect?" Harry asked, arching his brow questioningly. "A carbon copy of my Gryffindor, and loveably hotheaded father, but with my mother's eyes?"

Slughorn smiled and shrugged sheepishly, indicating that that had been exactly what he'd expected. "I…well, that is to say….But you weren't sorted into Gryffindor?"

Harry and Draco snorted and exchanged amused glances. "Harry has too much brain to be landed with the witless Gryffindor oafs."

"Ravenclaw then?"

Harry and Draco shook their heads.

Slughorn's eyes lit up with hope. "Slytherin?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is that so?" a small grin spread across Slughorn's face and he began bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. "Well, I must say this changes things. Were you aware that I was the head of Slytherin house before my retirement?"

"No, sir, I wasn't," Harry said, silently wondering over what had the man looking like a kid in a candy shop.

"I was, and I met many a fine wizard in my time. Why it seems only years ago that I taught Bella Farley, an extraordinarily bright witch who made quite a name for herself in the Misuse of Magical Artifacts Department. And then there's Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet, he's always interested to hear my take on the day's news. And Gwenog Jones, who of course captains the Holyhead Harpies, people are always astonished to hear I'm on first-name terms with the Harpies, and free tickets whenever I want them!"

"That must be nice," Harry smiled innocently. "I'm sure knowing so many influential people assures that you never experience a dull moment."

The teen watched as Slughorn seemed to deflate upon hearing his words. "Ah, how I wish it were so," he said dejectedly. "But unfortunately I've been out of touch with everybody for little over a year now," Slughorn sighed. "But it's for the best. A prudent wizard keeps his head down in such times. It's all very well for Dumbledore to talk, but taking up a post at Hogwarts just now would be tantamount to declaring my public allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix! And while I'm sure they're very admirable and brave and all the rest of it, I don't personally fancy the mortality rate."

"Oh, but it's quite the opposite," Harry said, "most of the staff have actually kept well away from any business regarding the Order, but they're safer than most people while Dumbledore's headmaster, he's supposed to be the only one Voldemort ever feared, isn't he?"

"Well, yes, it is true that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has never sought a fight with Dumbledore," Slughorn admitted. "And I suppose one could argue that as I have not joined the Death Eaters, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can hardly count me a friend… in which case, I might well be safer a little closer to Albus."

"Well there you go then," Harry said cheerfully, although he wasn't quite sure why he was even trying to coerce the man into joining the Hogwarts staff.

Slughorn eyed Harry shrewdly, but a small smile was tugging at the corner of his lips. "It seems the old Sorting Hat was right to put you in Slytherin." he said.

"I have yet to see him make a mistake."

"Thank you for allowing me the use of your facilities, Horace," Dumbledore said, sweeping back into the room. "It was most appreciated."

"Oh, of course. You were in there for a while. Upset stomach?"

"No, I was merely reading the muggle magazines," the headmaster said, smiling contentedly. "I do love knitting patterns. Well, Harry, Draco, we have trespassed upon Horace's hospitality quite long enough, I think it is time for us to leave."

"You're leaving?" Slughorn asked bewilderedly, he had no doubt expected Dumbledore to resume his attempts at persuasion.

"Yes, I know a lost cause when I see one."

"Lost…?"

"Yes. Well, I'm sorry you don't want the job, Horace. Hogwarts would have been glad to see you back again. Our greatly increased security notwithstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to."

"Yes… well… very gracious… as I say…" Slughorn seemed to be struggling with himself.

"Good-bye, then."

Harry and Draco nodded their farewells, then followed Dumbledore out of the room. They had just reached the front door when a loud shout stopped them in their tracks.

"Wait!" Slughorn came dashing to the doorway of the living room. "I'll do it! Alright? I'll do it!"

"You will come out of retirement?" Dumbledore asked genially.

"Yes, yes," said Slughorn impatiently. "I must be mad, but yes."

"Wonderful. Then, Horace, we shall see you on the first of September."

"Yes, I daresay you will," Slughorn grunted.

As they set off down the garden path, the elderly man's voice floated after them, "I'll want a pay rise, Dumbledore!"

Dumbledore chuckled. The garden gate swung shut behind them, and they set off back down the hill through the dark and the swirling mist.

"Well done, Harry," said Dumbledore.

The sable haired teen smirked smugly. "Thank you, Headmaster."

* * *

Unlike the first two times Harry had apparated, he braced himself before allowing Dumbledore to whisk them away, it was still unpleasant, but nowhere near as horrible as it had been the first two times.

Draco, Dumbledore, and Harry marched briskly up the lane leading up to the Burrow, moving as quickly as they could to get out of the unnatural chill. But instead of stopping at the front door when they reached the house, they circled around back and knocked on the back door.

"Who's there?" said a nervous voice he recognized as Mrs. Weasley's. "Declare yourself!"

"It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry and young Mister Malfoy."

The door opened at once and the trio was hurried into the house by a harried looking Mrs. Weasley.

"Goodness, Albus," she said, shutting the door behind them, "you gave me a fright, you said not to expect you before morning!"

"We were lucky. Slughorn proved much more persuadable than I had expected. Harry's doing, of course."

"Well, I'm glad. It's much too late for you three to be wandering about, especially during such troubling times," Mrs. Weasley pulled Harry into her customary bone breaking hug, then surprised Draco when she repeated the action on him, no less enthusiastically. "You both look far too thin to be healthy," she scolded steering them to the table. "Sit down and I'll warm up some soup. Will you be staying, Albus?"

Dumbledore sighed and looked wistfully to the pot of soup Mrs. Weasley was placing on the stovetop to warm up. "Unfortunately, I cannot. There are urgent matters I must discuss with Rufus Scrimgeour."

"Very well, be safe, Albus."

"Always. Take care, Molly. Goodnight boys," Dumbledore bowed himself out of the house, Harry, Mrs. Weasley, and Draco watched through the window as he walked briskly across the lawn, then disappeared at the exact same spot he'd appeared only a few minutes previous.

"Well," Mrs. Weasley said, moving away from the window to serve up bowls of warm onion soup and freshly cut bread, "I've heard you both have had quite the exciting summer so far."

"I wouldn't call it exciting," Harry said as he began systematically devouring his meal. "Eventful might be the better way to describe it."

"Yes, that seems much more appropriate," Mrs. Weasley agreed as she set Draco's bowl before him. "How have you been holding up, dear?" she asked, running a hand through the blonde's hair.

Draco looked startled by the affectionate gesture and the clear concern in Mrs. Weasley's voice, but he made no move to pull away. "As well as to be expected, I suppose," he said after a moment's hesitation. "I worry for my mother's well-being, but I know that as long as my father remains in Azkaban the Dark Lord won't harm her, as she is the last Malfoy he has under his control."

Mrs. Weasley nodded worriedly, then moved on to bustle about the kitchen. "I'll talk to the headmaster tomorrow, see if there's anything we can do for her."

Draco sighed, visibly relieved. "Thank you," he murmured.

Mrs. Weasley paused long enough to give him a gentle pat on the cheek. "Think nothing of it, dear.

The next few minutes were spent discussing Slughorn's return to Hogwarts and quietly celebrating Mr. Weasley's promotion to Head of the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. Apparently with the confirmation of Voldemort's return, peddlers all over wizarding England had taken advantage of the frightened witches and wizards to sell them protective potions that were really just gravy with a bit of bubotuber pus added, or instructions for defensive jinxes that actually made the caster's ears fall off.

After Mr. Weasley's late arrival they spent a few more minutes listening to his tales of backfiring jinxes in Elephant and Castle and faulty Metamorph Medals that were said to allow the wearer to change their appearance at will but really just turned their skin orange and, in a few cases, caused a few unfortunate people to sprout tentacle like warts all over their bodies.

"Bed," Mrs. Weasley said when she noticed Draco's drooping eyes and Harry's poorly concealed yawns. "I've got Fred and George's room all set up for you two."

"Where are they?" Harry asked, tiredly following her up the stairs.

"They're in Diagon Alley, sleeping in the little flat over their joke shop as they're so busy."

"They've been doing well then?"

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley sighed. "I must say, I didn't approve at first, but they do seem to have a bit of a flair for business."

"I figured they would."

Mrs. Weasley made a soft sound of agreement before stopping at the first door on the second floor. "Here we are," the bedroom was decently sized, certainly larger than Harry's room at Privet Drive, but it was bare save for two beds, a large wardrobe, a vase of flowers set atop a desk, and a mountain of sealed cardboard boxes stacked along the far wall.

"Try not to disturb anything in those boxes," Mrs. Weasley said. "Merlin only knows what type of pranks and such you might set off."

"Yes, ma'am," Draco said obediently.

Mrs. Weasley smiled and patted his cheek warmly. "Alright then, I'll leave you two to sleep, don't worry about sleeping in tomorrow, you've had a long night."

Harry and Draco made soft noises of agreement then bade Mrs. Weasley goodnight. After her departure, they quickly changed into their night clothes then dove gratefully into their beds, they were both asleep almost immediately.

* * *

It seemed like Harry had only managed a few seconds of sleep before he was being woken by the bang of the door being thrown open and the rasp of the curtains pulling away from the window.

As he groped for a pillow to throw over his head and block out the sudden light flooding the room, Harry felt his bed give a little jolt as someone leapt onto the mattress and, as a result, on top of him.

"We didn't know you two were here already!" Ron shouted from where his spot on top of Harry's legs.

Harry sighed mournfully and briefly entertained the idea of burrowing under his covers and ignoring Ron's presence, but having known the redhead for going on five years now, he knew that that approach would do no good. So, with a quiet groan and a bit of effort, he pushed Ron off of his legs who collapsed onto the ground with an impressive, thundering crash and a loud yelp.

"What the hell, Weasley," Draco hissed, throwing his pillow at the pouting teen. "Can't you see I'm trying to sleep?"

"He most likely can, but remember this is Ron we're talking about here, he has all of the consideration of an orangutan, and the intelligence that is perhaps just a bit substandard to one," Hermione said, walking into the room with a smiling Ginny close behind, she smiled brightly at her two friends and swooped down to give them both a kiss on the cheek. "Good morning Draco, Harry."

"Morning, Hermione," Draco muttered as he curled up under the covers in a futile attempt at gaining even an extra second of sleep.

"So you've finally decided to use my given name," Hermione beamed, looking extraordinarily pleased at the turn of events. "Good."

"Yeah, well after I accidently used Harry's proper name he got it into his mind that I should use it and everyone else's all of the time now, he even threatened to tell Parkinson that the reason I spurn her advances is because I'm too _shy_ to admit my feelings for her if I didn't."

"Good job, Harry," Hermione said approvingly. "We should have tried that years ago."

Harry grinned, but took pity on his scowling friend and changed the subject. "I know Mrs. Weasley said we didn't have to worry about sleeping in, but what time is it? Have we missed breakfast?"

"Yeah," a still pouting Ron said, climbing off of the floor to perch on the end of Draco's bed in a much more civil manner, "but don't worry, Mum said she'd bring you guys up a tray."

"I reckon that's just her excuse to get away from _her _for a bit," Ginny said. "And I don't blame her, _she's _been intolerable lately."

Draco poked his head out from under his covers and surveyed Ginny interestedly, he'd always been one for a good bit of gossip. "Who's been intolerable?"

There was no need for him to have even asked, because the very moment the question fell from his lips, the door swung open and a tall, willowy beauty swept into the room in a swirl of sweet perfume and silvery blond hair, in her arms, she was carefully balancing two trays laden with all sorts of breakfast foods.

"'Arry!" she cried, setting one of the trays onto his lap before bending down to place a swift kiss on each of his cheeks. "Eet 'as been too long."

"Hello, Fleur," Harry smiled at the young woman, pleasantly surprised to see her. After the Triwizard Tournament, he had made a point to keep in touch with the two other champions as they had formed a tentative friendship over the course of the year, but with his busy year he'd only been able to write to them once or twice a month. The last time he'd heard from Fleur, she been on her way to London to apply for a job at Gringotts, he didn't know if she'd gotten it, but even if she had, that didn't explain her presence at the Burrow.

"And Draco, I have missed you," she placed the second tray in Draco's lap then gave him a kiss on each cheek.

"I've missed you as well," Draco smiled, but his confusion was still evident. "But what are you doing here?"

Fleur turned to look reproachfully at Mrs. Weasley, who stood in the doorway with a cross expression on her face. "You did not tell them?"

"I didn't get around to informing them, they arrived late last night."

Fleur swung back around to face Harry, whipping her long sheet of silver hair in Mrs. Weasley's face as she did. "No matter, I will tell zem myself. Bill and I are going to be married."

"Really?" Harry said. "Congratulations, Fleur!"

"Yes," Draco said. "Congratulations, you must be thrilled."

"I am," Fleur agreed. "As is Bill."

"Where is he, by the way?" Harry asked.

"Bill is very busy at ze moment, working very 'ard, and I only work part-time at Gringotts for my Eenglish, so he brought me 'ere for a few days to get to know 'is family properly. I was so pleased to 'ear you would be coming… zere isn't much to do 'ere, unless you like cooking and chickens! Well… enjoy your breakfast, 'Arry, Draco!"

And with that she was gone, leaving a disgruntled Mrs. Weasley, a dazed Ron, and the other two teenage boys trying to process the part-veela's excited chatter.

"Well, that was unexpected," Harry said with a soft snort before digging into his breakfast. The Dursleys had had long ago stopped starving him, but no one cooked like Mrs. Weasley.

The women in question made a soft noise of discontent then turned and stomped from the room, leaving the group to mutter mutinously about Bill's choice in fiancés, or rather leaving Harry and Draco listen to Hermione and Ginny gripe while Ron tried to shake himself from the stupor he'd fallen into upon Fleur's arrival.

Their conversation was interrupted however when, a half an hour or so after her departure, Mrs. Weasley's somewhat hysteric shouts for them sent the four soon to be sixth years hurrying down the stairs, Ginny followed them at a much more leisurely pace.

"What is it, Mum?" Ron asked worriedly. "Are you alright?"

Mrs. Weasley pointed a lightly shaking finger at four important looking owls perched on the windowsill.

Hermione let out a high pitched, somewhat nervous squeak. "Are those Ministry owls?" she whispered.

"Yeah," Harry approached the birds and collected a letter from each of them. "They have our names on them," he said, handing each of his friends their respective letters. "They must be our results."

Oh no," Hermione cried, pushing her letter away from her. "Oh no, oh no, oh no. I can't do this. What if I've failed? I probably did! Oh, I've certainly failed."

"Shut the hell up, Hermione," Harry said calmly, "and open your letter."

"But, Harry-"

"Come off it, Hermione," Ron snapped impatiently, examining his own letter with no small amount of trepidation. "We all know you got eleven O's so could you please shut up and let the rest of us panic in peace."

"No panicking," Mrs. Weasley said anxiously. "Open them."

"Right," Hermione agreed, "open them."

The four friends exchanged glances then simultaneously opened their Ministry sealed letters.

_**Ordinary Wizarding Level Results**_

_Pass Grades:_

Outstanding (O)

Exceeds Expectations (E)

Acceptable (A)

_Fail Grades:_

Poor (P)

Dreadful (D)

Troll (T)

_Harry James Potter has achieved:_

Astronomy: O

Ancient Runes: O

Charms: O

Defense Against the Dark Arts: O

Arithmancy: O

Herbology: O

History of Magic: O

Potions: O

Transfiguration: O

Harry let out soft, relieved breath. "Wow," he murmured. Straight O's, his father would certainly be proud.

Harry took a few seconds to allow his racing heart to calm before looking up to observe his friends' reactions. Hermione was frantically scrutinizing her parchment, gripping it so tight Harry was worried it would tear, Draco had allowed a mask of calm indifference to settle across his face, but Harry could see the relief shining in his eyes, Ron had already finished looking over his grades, he looked delighted.

"Only failed Divination and History of Magic, and who cares about them?" he said happily to Harry. "Here… swap…" Harry obligingly swapped grades with Ron. "Bloody hell, Harry!" he cried, looking over the parchment with wide eyes. "Way to go mate!"

After sharing his results, Draco peered over Ron's shoulders and beamed when he caught sight of Harry's results. "Ravenclaw," he said, throwing a congratulatory arm around Harry's shoulders.

"Hermione?" Ginny asked tentatively, the brunette had been the only one who hadn't spoken yet. "How did you do?"

"I…not bad," Hermione said in small voice.

"Oh, come off it," said Ron, striding over to her and whipping her results out of her hand. "Yep…ten 'Outstandings' and one 'Exceeds Expectations' at Defense Against the Dark Arts." He looked down at her, half-amused, half-exasperated. "You're actually disappointed, aren't you?"

Hermione shook her head, but Harry laughed and gave her a one armed hug. "You did fantastic, love."

"Well, we're N.E.W.T. students now," Ron said cheerfully. "Mum are there any more sausages?"

* * *

The next few weeks spent at the Burrow were some of the most enjoyable Harry had ever experienced during the summer time. He spent most of his days with his friends, whether it was swimming in the pond by the Burrow, visiting Luna and her father, who was just as odd as her, in their rook shaped house, or attempting to play a game of Quidditch with Ron, Draco, and Ginny while Hermione refereed, while his nights were spent eating triple helping of everything Mrs. Weasley set in front of him and finishing his summer homework with the others.

The summer was so peaceful Harry would have forgotten that a war was brewing outside of the little haven he'd found in the Burrow if it hadn't been for the Order members occasionally popping in for dinner and bringing news of deaths and disappearances with them. There had been numerous Dementor attacks, the Ministry was struggling to hide them from the muggles, Igor Karkaroff had been found dead in a shack up in the north, the Dark Mark hovering above the scene of the crime, and both Florean Fortescue and Ollivander the wandmaker had disappeared. It looked as if Fortescue had been dragged off, but there was no trace of a struggle in Ollivander's shop, it was as if he'd just up and walked off.

The morning they'd scheduled to visit Diagon Alley to pick up their school supplies was an overcast day, Harry had been dismayed to see the Ministry cars waiting for them outside of the Burrow, and even more dismayed when he'd found out that he would have a guard while shopping. The last thing he wanted was a group of uptight Ministry approved Aurors stalking him while he tried to be productive. His fears were assuaged, however, when the group arrived at the Leaky Cauldron and he discovered that his guard would be Hagrid.

"I think we'd better do Madam Malkin's first, Hermione wants new dress robes, and Ron's showing much too much ankle in his school robes, and you must need new ones too, Harry, you've grown so much," Mrs. Weasley muttered to herself as they crossed through the depressingly empty Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley.

"Molly, it doesn't make sense for all of us to go to Madam Malkin's," Mr. Weasley protested when she tried to herd the entire group to Madam Malkin's. "Why don't those four go with Hagrid, and we can go to Flourish and Blotts and get everyone's school-books?"

"I don't know," Mrs. Weasley said anxiously, clearly torn between a desire to finish the shopping quickly and the wish to stick together in a pack. "Hagrid, do you think…?"

"Don't fret, they'll be fine with me, Molly," Hagrid assured her. Mrs. Weasley did not look entirely convinced, but allowed the separation, scurrying off toward Flourish and Blotts with her husband and Ginny while Harry, Ron, Draco, Hermione, and Hagrid set off for Madam Malkin's.

When they reached the shop, Hagrid decided to stand guard outside while the four teenagers ducked into the shop, they got their robes without a problem, then hurried to meet up with the others who were still shopping in Flourish and Blotts.

After exchanging a few words with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Draco and Harry split off from the rest of the group to wander through the aisles, discussing Snape's summer homework while occasionally grabbing a book of interest. They'd just paused at the back of the store to examine a series of books on human transfiguration when a soft voice startled them from their conversation.

"Draco?" the two boys spun on their heels and found themselves facing a pale, slightly unhealthy looking Narcissa Malfoy.

"Mother?"

"Oh, it is you, darling," Narcissa cried reaching forward to enfold her son in a hug that rivaled Molly Weasley's. "Oh, thank Salazar you're alright. I was so worried when you disappeared, I'd thought…" she paused and looked up at Draco with tear filled cornflower blue eyes. "Well, it doesn't matter what I was thinking, you're fine, you're safe. You are safe right?"

"Yes, I'm safe, mother," Draco said. "I'm sorry I left you, but I had to get away, he was going to mark me. But how are you? Did the Dark Lord punish you for my disappearance?"

Narcissa pulled her robes tighter around her thin frame and arranged her face into a carefully haughty expression, but Harry could see the fragility in the way her hands trembled and the dark shadows marring her otherwise flawless skin. "Nothing I can't handle," she said bravely.

"Oh, mother," Draco whispered, sounding as if he were near tears. "This is my fault."

"No," Narcissa said sharply. "We both know that if you had stayed the Dark Lord would have either marked you or killed you. You made the right choice."

"Isn't there anything we can do for _you_ though? You're in danger. Why don't you leave?"

"And go where? The Dark Lord knows every property owned by the Malfoys, from the villa in Italy to the chalet in France."

"There must be somewhere."

"Perhaps I could be of assistance," Harry offered quietly.

Immediately, the attention of both Malfoys were focused intently on him. "You can?" Draco asked, desperately latching onto his friends arm. "Harry, what can you do?"

"I could possibly grant you asylum, Mrs. Malfoy, but it would require no small sacrifice on your part."

"Name it," Narcissa said without a moment's hesitation.

Harry wandlessly erected several privacy wards. "I'm sure that you are aware that this past June my godfather, Sirius Black, was killed in the Department of Mysteries, by your own sister as a matter of fact."

"Yes," Narcissa said eyeing Harry shrewdly, "I also saw the damage you inflicted upon her for that act."

Harry smiled coldly. "If Voldemort hadn't shown up it would have been a lot worse. But that's not what I wanted to discuss. My godfather's will was read not too long, and, to make a long story short, he named me his heir. Which means-"

"-that you are now the head of the Black family," Narcissa gasped.

"Exactly."

"What does that mean for us?" Draco asked.

"It means that, as the head of the Black family, it is my duty to do whatever I can to protect my family, but that obligation extends only to those who bear the Black name."

"Oh."

"I still don't understand," Draco said in frustration.

"The only way Mr. Potter can grant me asylum is if I bear the Black name," Narcissa said. "And the only way that is possible is if I divorce your father."

"Oh."

Would it be correct to assume, Lady Malfoy, that your husband has no intentions of changing sides?" Harry asked.

Narcissa nodded.

"Then would it not be in you and your son's best interests to get away from him while you still can?"

"It would," she agreed. "But what you're asking…if I divorce Lucius I might as well publically proclaim that I have joined the light side, for that is how the Dark Lord will see it. Betraying him would not be beneficial toward my continued health."

"Nor would allying yourself with the losing side."

"The losing side?" Narcissa repeated.

"Yes," Harry drew himself up to his full height, which was overall quite impressive, and smiled a small, but confident smile down at her. At that moment he looked uncannily like his godly father. "Mark my words, Lady Malfoy. Voldemort _will _be defeated, and I will be the one to do it."

Narcissa looked at the barely sixteen year old boy, the child no older than her own son, in something bordering on awe. _This_ was what Lucius had hoped for when he had pledged himself to the Dark Lord's cause; a strong, confident, but above all else _powerful _leader. Unfortunately, while the Dark Lord was certainly strong, powerful, and maybe a bit _too_ confident, he was also utterly insane, and not the good type either. But Harry Potter, he was everything she'd hoped for and more.

When Narcissa Malfoy spoke, her voice had lost that hint of fragility and now held the understated strength that had made her the formidable Lady Malfoy she'd once been.

"You are young, Mr. Potter," she said softly, "but you have a power about you that will make you a very formidable opponent in the coming war. If I agree to your terms, can you swear to protect me to the very best of your ability?"

"I can."

"Then I accept your offer, Mr. Potter."

* * *

Unfortunately, the process of granting Narcissa Malfoy asylum from the Dark Lord was a bit more difficult than making an offer and receiving an acceptance. For some reason, the elder Weasley's were less than pleased with the deal struck up in the back of Flourish Blotts; Harry spent several long minutes trying to explain to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley why the choice he'd made had been the right one, even if he hadn't sought their counsel before making it. But when that proved fruitless, Harry ended the conversation by stating quite plainly that he'd made his decision and he was sticking to it. Not only would it be dishonorable if he rescinded his offer after already coming to an agreement, no matter how tentative, but Draco was his best friend and he would never forgive himself if he allowed his friend's mother to return to a place where she could be killed just for blinking wrong.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hadn't been pleased, but they conceded defeat, they knew they were fighting a losing battle. With that minor setback out of the way, Harry and Draco escorted a hooded Narcissa to Gringotts where they would enlist the goblins' help to draw up a foolproof contract, while the rest of the group went to the twins' new shop, where they would be waiting until they'd finished conducting business.

When they entered Gringotts, it was to find it packed with sweaty, shouting customers, but all it took was a sizeable amount of galleons to the right goblin and they were being led down a much less crowded hall to the office of Gornuk, the Black family account manager. The next portion of the proceedings went incredibly smoothly.

The easiest way to rid herself of the Malfoy name was, not to file for divorce, but to simply break the contract drawn up upon the union of Narcissa and Lucius. Luckily, Lucius' imprisonment broke the contract and Narcissa was able to purge herself of her married name with very little hassle.

When she was once again a Black, Narcissa and Harry were able to draw up a contract that left all parties, if not happy, then highly satisfied. Narcissa swore to follow a set of rules established by Harry with a bit of help from Gornuk, none of the rules were too imposing, and all of them were put in place for her, Draco, and Harry's safety. By agreeing to the guidelines Narcissa became a ward of the Black family, which meant that she would be protected by the head of the family, which in this case was Harry, and placed in one of the family's heavily warded safe houses; the location of which was only known by her, Draco, and Harry. After a few minutes of nitpicking over the final details of the contract, the agreement was sealed with the Unbreakable Vow with Draco as their Bonder and Gornuk as their witness.

The moment the vow was made a great weight seemed to be lifted from Narcissa's shoulders. "Thank you," she whispered, throwing herself from her chair to kneel before Harry and grip his larger hands in her considerably smaller ones. "Thank you so much. You have no idea what this means to me."

"We are indebted to you, Harry," Draco said, looking far better than he had all summer.

"Oh, stop," Harry smiled, pulling Narcissa to her feet. "You're as good as my brother, Draco, neither of you owe me anything."

"Regardless, you have my loyalty," Narcissa said. "If you ever need my assistance in anything, all you need to do is ask."

"All I want in return is for you to remain safe during these dangerous times. I want Draco to still have his mother when this is all over."

The blond woman pulled him into a quick, but no less heartfelt, embrace. "Then it is done."

* * *

The aftermath of Narcissa's defection to the light side was far less dramatic than Harry had anticipated; the Weasley parents' exasperation towards his hastily made decision disappeared the moment they saw the uplifting effect it had had on Draco's previously glum mood and when they realized that Narcissa truly was genuine in her intent to walk away from Voldemort and all that he stood for.

Dumbledore was a different matter altogether.

The elderly man had paid Harry a visit the moment he'd heard what had occurred during their trip to Diagon Alley, Harry figured that he had come with the intent of maybe scolding him for his actions, but it turned out to be much worse. Dumbledore had obviously taken the cordiality between the two of them since their conversation at the end of his fifth year as a sign that all of their past misunderstandings had been forgotten. They hadn't. In fact they were made worse when Dumbledore visited the Burrow and tried to _order _Harry to go back on his word to Narcissa and leave her to the mercy of the Dark Lord.

Needless to say, that hadn't gone over too well with Harry. The conversation had ended almost as soon as it had begun with several brutal, but completely true statements on the headmasters morals, or rather lack thereof, and a reminder that he was his headmaster and nothing more and that he had no right to demand anything from him.

The headmaster had left the Burrow thoroughly chastised and with his tail tucked between his legs.

* * *

Their departure on the morning of September the first was smoother than usual. Everyone had made sure to pack all of their belongings the night before, so when the cars the Ministry had provided to transport them to Kings Cross glided up to the front of the Burrow they were waiting, trunks packed and animals safely enclosed in cages and traveling baskets. They easily stored their things into the expanded trunk and traveled to the station where a group of Aurors were waiting to escort them to the train.

"Now I want you all to have a good term," Mrs. Weasley said, absentmindedly adjusting the collar of Ron's shirt. "Be good and please try to stay out of trouble."

"You say that as if we willingly go looking for trouble, Mrs. Weasley," Harry teased.

"Yes, well with all the mischief you lot get yourselves into, I sometimes can't help but wonder if that's the case." She gave each of the waiting teens a hug and a kick kiss to the cheek, then herded them onto the train just as it whistled its final warning.

"Make sure you look after yourselves!" she called as the train began to move. "Stay safe!"

Harry waved a final farewell to Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys before turning to his friends expectantly. "You lot heading to the prefect's carriage?"

"Yeah," Hermione nodded. "We'll see you in an hour or so."

"Alright, have fun…or I don't know are the meetings fun? And watch out for Parkinson, Draco," Harry laughed and ducked away from the stinging hex shot his way. "I'll go find the others. Will you be joining me, Ginny?" he asked the younger girl who was lingering a few feet away.

"No, I told Dean I'd meet up with him."

She gave him a searching look, but Harry shrugged and began heading down the hall. "All right, see you later."

"Yeah, see you."

Harry left her loitering in the narrow hall, focusing his attention on finding Blaise, Neville, and Luna. His search, however, was hindered by the arrival of a fairly pretty, curly haired fifth year girl, he recognized from the T.A.

"Hello, Harry," she smiled up at him, batting her long lashes.

"Hello, Romilda," he said, absently peering through the windows of the compartments around them, hoping to spot his friends.

"How was your summer?" the Gryffindor asked.

"It was fine. Yours?"

"It was fantastic, although I could have done with a bit less homework."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, running a hand through his hair, he gave up trying to find his friends and tried to devote at least part of his attention to the conversation he was carrying with the younger girl. "McGonagall was brutal with her workload, and it'll only get worse for you now that you're starting fifth year."

"Well, maybe you could tutor me sometime," Romilda said sweetly, curling a lock of hair around her finger. "I could really use the-_oh!_" she jolted forward as a group of girls hurried down the hall, there weren't that many in the group, but somehow Romilda stumbled forward and fell against Harry, one hand against his chest and another rested on her waistline.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Harry," she apologized, but made no move to remove her hands from his person, on the contrary, her hand slowly began sliding lower.

"Um, yeah…I…uh…"

"Harry!"

The dark haired teen could have kissed Blaise for his timely arrival.

"Sorry, Romilda," he said, smiling apologetically, "got to run. It was nice talking to you though."

"Yeah, you too," the disappointed girl said.

Harry carefully backed away from her groping hands, then hurried down the hall to greet his grinning friend. "I could kiss you right now," he muttered.

"Oh, really?" Blaise asked as he led him to a compartment a few doors down. "It looked like Romilda Vane had that area covered," the dark skinned teen looked his friend up and down. "And perhaps a bit more covered as well."

"Shut up," Harry hissed, turning bright red.

"Blaise what have you done to Harry?" Neville asked, eyeing the flushed teen in amusement. "He's redder than Ron's hair."

"_I _didn't do anything," Blaise said, a shark like grin spreading across his face. "Romilda Vane on the other hand did quite a number on our Harry, when I showed up he was a stuttering mess."

"I was not! I was just trying to find a polite way to tell her to remove her hands from my person."

"Oh, this sounds interesting," Neville grinned. "Tell me more."

"There's nothing to tell," Harry said crossly.

"Nothing to tell?" Blaise laughed. "I'm afraid I have to disagree, there's quite a bit to tell."

"If you value your life, Zabini, you won't say another word."

Obviously he didn't value his life as the part Italian Slytherin continued as if Harry hadn't spoken. "I was walking down the halls, looking for you all, when I find our poor, sweet Harry backed against the wall with Romilda Vane's hand practically shoved down his pants."

Neville collapsed in his seat, howling in laughter, while Luna watched the scene with serene amusement.

"You were molested by Romilda Vane in the middle of the train?" Neville asked in between great gasps of laughter.

"Where are my real friends?" Harry lamented dramatically. "I can't stand a moment longer in the presence of such traitors."

"I'm sure Romilda would love to keep you company," Blaise smirked.

"I hate you."

* * *

As it had been all summer, the weather outside of the safe confines of the train was patchy; they passed through stretches of the chilling mist, then out into weak, clear sunlight, then back into the gloomy mist once again. It was during one of the clear spells that Draco, Ron, and Hermione entered the compartment.

"Wish the lunch trolley would hurry up, I'm starving," Ron sighed, slumping into the seat beside Harry and rubbing his stomach.

"You're always hungry," Hermione snorted.

"Yeah, well I'm a growing boy."

"Excuse me," the room fell silent as everyone turned to observe the breathless third year girl who had stepped into the compartment. "I'm supposed to deliver these to Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, and Blaise Zabini," she held out three scrolls tied with violet ribbons. Perplexed, the three sixth years took the scrolls addressed to them.

"Thank you," Harry told the girl.

She nodded and hurried out of the compartment.

"What is it?" Ron asked, as Harry unrolled his.

"An invitation from Slughorn."

_Harry,_

_I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C._

_Sincerely_,

_Professor H. E. F. Slughorn_

"What do you think he wants?" Neville asked, examining his invitation in confusion. "And why did he only invite the three of us?"

"Slughorn likes to collect people he thinks will make it far in life," Harry said, carelessly tossing aside his invitation. "He obviously took a look at our parents, or, in my case, our fancy titles, and decided that we would make excellent additions to his little club," Harry sighed sufferingly and climbed to his feet. "We might as well go and get this over with."

"Wait, you're actually going to go?" Ron asked incredulously.

"He knows a lot of important people," Harry shrugged. "He might be able to get introduce us to a few of them."

"Ugh, Slytherin politics," the redheaded grunted. "Go on then, mate, have fun."

"It most certainly won't be _fun_," Blaise snorted. "But hopefully Harry's right and the connections we'll make will make it worth our while."

The journey to compartment C was quite the struggle as Harry, Blaise, and Neville were forced to maneuver through flocks of gaping teens, dodging groping hands, and occasionally leaping out of the way of students who literally hurled themselves out of their compartments to get a glimpse at Harry.

"Merlin," Blaise gasped, when the three exhausted teens finally reached compartment C. "I'm sorry Harry, but if this is what happens whenever I accompany you to public places, we're going to have to end our friendship."

Harry huffed a tired laugh, but didn't deign to respond as at that moment, they slipped into Slughorn's compartment.

"Harry, m'boy!" Slughorn said jovially, jumping up upon his entrance. "Good to see you, good to see you! And you must be Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Zabini! I was not aware that you knew each other."

"Yes, sir," Harry forced an almost believable smile. "We're quite close."

"Excellent," Slughorn gestured to the three seats closest to the door. "Please, sit. Now, do you know everyone?" When it was confirmed that they were not familiar with each other, Slughorn spent the next few minutes introducing everyone. The two others that had been invited were seventh years, one was a large, fit Gryffindor named Cormac McLaggen, and the other was Marcus Belby, a thin, nervous looking Ravenclaw.

"Now that that's done with, let's have lunch. I've packed my own as I'm afraid most of the wares sold on the usual trolley wouldn't be good for this old man's digestive system."

Over his light meal of cold pheasant and sliced cheese, Harry watched as Slughorn, one by one, engaged each of the compartments occupants in conversation, revealing the reason behind their presence as he did. Marcus had been invited because his uncle, Damocles Belby, was a renowned Potion's Master who had apparently created the Wolfsbane Potion, but when it was discovered that Belby wasn't all that close with his uncle due to strife between him and Marcus' father, Slughorn seemed to lose all interest in him. After Belby was Cormac, who Slughorn had much more luck on, the older teen was the nephew of an influential Ministry employee who was good friends with the newly appointed Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour. Next to be questioned was Blaise, who was forced to spend several long minutes discussing his relationship with his mother, the infamous Black Widow, then went Neville, who was incredibly uncomfortable talking about his parents, who had been confined to St. Mungo's after being tortured into insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband. Harry heard him breathe a soft sigh of relief when Slughorn turned his attention off of Neville and onto him.

"Harry Potter! Where to begin? I feel I barely scratched the surface when we met over the summer!" He contemplated Harry for a moment as though he was a particularly large and succulent piece of pheasant, then said, "'The Chosen One,' they're calling you now!"

Harry wisely didn't comment on his newest title, choosing to simply smile neutrally at Slughorn and take another bite of his pheasant.

"Of course, there have been rumors for years," Slughorn continued. "I remember when… well after that terrible night with and Lily and James…and you survived! And the word was that you must have powers beyond the ordinary."

Blaise gave a tiny little cough of amusement, Harry gave him a swift kick under the table and shot him a glare that was ruined by the small smile he was struggling to hide.

"Such rumors this summers," Slughorn obviously hadn't noticed the small exchange between the two Slytherins. "Of course, one doesn't know what to believe, the Prophet has been known to print inaccuracies, make mistakes, but there seems little doubt, given the number of witnesses, that there was quite a disturbance at the Ministry and that you were there in the thick of it all!"

"Yes, well not exactly by choice," Harry shrugged.

Slughorn nodded solemnly. "Yes, I heard of that, you were dragged there against your will by the Auror Gibbon. Bad business that was. But why did he take you to the Ministry of all places? What was his purpose?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, sir. He trapped me in the Department of Mysteries, but I was rescued before he could carry out whatever he had planned."

"Do you think it perhaps has something to do with this fabled prophecy?" Slughorn leaned forward as far as he could with his large belly. "It's well known that the Hall of Prophecies is located somewhere in the Department of Mysteries."

"That could be the reason, but I never heard anything about a prophecy, so I'm afraid that it's all speculation."

"Yes… well… it is true that the Prophet often exaggerates, of course…" Slughorn said, sounding a little disappointed. "I remember dear Gwenog telling me (Gwenog Jones, I mean, of course, Captain of the Holyhead Harpies)…"

Slughorn launched into a long winded tale that started off about Gwenog Jones but slowly evolved into recollection of every successful person he'd ever taught. It was only when the train hit one of the rare patches of sunlight that Slughorn noticed the late hour and sent them back to their compartments.

They only had just enough time to change into their robes before the train pulled up to the Hogsmeade station and they had to disembark.

"So did you make any 'important connections?'" Ron asked once they'd settled down in one of the thestral drawn carriages.

"Not yet," Neville laughed. "We mostly spent the lunch being regaled with tales of Slughorn's famous former students."

"The pheasant was good though."

"I'll bet," Ron sighed wistfully. "Merlin, I'm starving."

"You just ate three packs of Cauldron Cakes, half of a box of Bertie Botts, and _at _least a dozen Chocolate Frogs!" Hermione exclaimed. "How in the world are you still hungry?"

"That wasn't real food," Ron moaned. "I need something hearty, some of Mum's turkey sandwiches sound fantastic right about now."

Draco, who a few years previous would have sneered at the mention of such a commoner's meal, nodded in agreement, his face took on a wistful expression. "No one makes turkey sandwiches quite like your mother, Ron."

"Calm down, boys," Harry laughed. "Look we're here, it won't be long until dinner, maybe they'll have turkey sandwiches."

"But not _Mum's _turkey sandwiches."

"The house elves make them almost as good."

"Almost as good isn't enough."

"All right, I give up," Harry said as he hopped out of the carriage. "It's obvious I'm getting nowhere with you."

Still grumbling quietly to himself, Ron followed Harry and the others to the Great Hall, where they settled down at the Ravenclaw table to watch as McGonagall led the customary group of nervous first years into the hall, they were swiftly sorted into their appropriate houses and the feast was allowed to begin.

"Finally!" Ron crowed, grabbing for the closest dish.

The group of sixth years and one fifth spent most of the feast in comfortable quiet, focusing most of their attention on gorging on the hearty foods spread before them, though they were frequently interrupted by students of all houses approaching to ask if they would be continuing the T.A. that year. Harry assured them that he would see if he could get permission to continue the club from the headmaster and that he would let them know the moment he did.

After dinner was finished and the last of the dessert was consumed, Dumbledore got to his feet at and beamed down at the chattering students. "The very best of evenings to you!" he said cheerfully, his arms opened wide as though to embrace the whole room. The motion, however, accidentally flashed the hall a glimpse of his blacked, dead looking hand.

"What happened to his hand?" Hermione gasped.

And she was not the only one who had noticed. Whispers swept across the room and people craned to get a better look. Dumbledore, interpreting them correctly, merely smiled and shook his purple and gold sleeve over his injury.

"Nothing to worry about," he said calmly. "Now… to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you, as usual I must remind you that the Forbidden Forest is strictly off limits to all students. Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has also asked me to say that there is a blanket ban on any joke items bought from the shop called Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," he took a moment to allow the rush of laughter to pass, then continued on as if there had been no interruption. "Those wishing to play for their House Quidditch teams should give their names to their Heads of House as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators who should do likewise.

"We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year, Professor Slughorn," Slughorn stood from his seat and waved genially at the watching students, "is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of potions master."

Harry's brow raised in surprise at the announcement, and near everyone else was just as surprised as him.

The confused query "Potions?" echoed all over the Hall as people wondered whether they had heard right.

"Professor Snape, meanwhile," Dumbledore said, ignoring the confused murmurs, "will be taking the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"You two said Slughorn would be teaching Defense," Hermione said over the Slytherins' applause.

"We thought he was," Draco shrugged, clapping along with his housemates.

Seemingly oblivious to the controversial news he had just imparted, Dumbledore said nothing more about staff appointments, but waited a few seconds to ensure that the silence was absolute before continuing

"Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength. I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle's magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that you teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find them, in particular, the rule that you are not to be out of after hours. I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others' safety."

Dumbledore's blue eyes swept over the students before he smiled once more. "But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip pip!"

"Yeah, because we'll really be sleeping soundly after that announcement," Neville scoffed.

"I'm sure the news that security has been upped is supposed to be reassuring." Hermione said.

"It wasn't."

"Potter!" a sharp voice barked as Harry and his friends made to leave the Ravenclaw table and head to their separate dorms.

"Hello, Professor Snape," he said, smiling up at the surly man. "How are you?"

"As well as can be expected now that you and your imbecilic classmates have decided to burden me once again with your presence."

Harry laughed softly. "I expected nothing less. But I believe congratulations are in order, I have no doubt you'll be one of the best Defense professors Hogwarts has seen in a long while."

Snape arched a brow. "_One _of the best?"

"Professor Lupin was a fantastic teacher."

"Yes, well I can assure you that I am better."

"Be careful, Professor, your Gryffindor spirit is showing."

"As if. Now the headmaster seems to be suffering under the delusion that I am his messenger boy," Snape's sneer showed exactly what he thought of this notion. "He wishes me to inform you that he would like to speak with you in his office immediately. The password is Milky Way,"

"Alright, thank you, Professor."

"It was my pleasure. Good night, Potter," he turned, and with an impressive billowing of his robes, left.

"Well, I guess I'll be going to see the headmaster," Harry sighed, thinking longingly of his sinfully soft four poster bed and how he would much rather be curling up under his warm covers than seeing his less than favorite headmaster.

"Go on then," Draco said, "we'll wait up for you."

Harry nodded, then, after bidding Luna, Hermione, Ron, and Neville goodnight, reluctantly headed in the direction of the headmaster's office.

"Milky Way," he told the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office. It bowed and leapt aside, the wall behind it slid apart, and a moving spiral stone staircase was revealed.

Harry rode the revolving staircase to the top, then reached out and knocked sharply on the door.

"Come in."

"Good evening, Headmaster," Harry said in a carefully neutral voice.

"Good evening, Harry. Sit down," Dumbledore smiled at the teen from his usual spot behind his desk. "I hope you enjoyed the feast."

"I did, thank you. What is it you need?"

"I'd like to begin by apologizing, it was not my place to demand what I did, you were completely correct in everything you told me."

"It seems like you've been apologizing to me quite a bit lately, Headmaster."

"I have," Dumbledore agreed solemnly. "I have realized that in my endeavor to do what was right for the wizarding world, I abandoned my endeavor to do what was right for _you_, and for that, I must say once again, that I am truly sorry."

Harry inclined his head in understanding, but not forgiveness. "Was that all you wanted of me, Headmaster?"

"There is one more thing. It is my wish that you take private lessons with me this year."

"Private lessons?" Harry repeated. "What will you be teaching me?"

"I have come across some information that could be vital for, not only your survival, but your defeat of Voldemort."

Harry took a moment to process this information. "When will we be having these lessons, sir?"

"I have yet to set a specific date, but when I have I will let you know. Is that agreeable?"

"With your permission I would like to continue my defense club, if I am allowed I will need to work my schedule around yours, but otherwise your plans are acceptable."

"I give you my full permission to continue, on the condition that you allow one staff member of my choosing to observe your first lesson. Would you object to having Professor Flitwick present?"

"I wouldn't."

"Very good," Dumbledore beamed. "I believe we have a deal. Now, unless you have anything else you have to ask me, I bid you a good night."

Harry nodded, but faltered in the act of rising from his seat. He hesitated a few seconds before asking the question that had been nagging him since he'd met up with Dumbledore over the summer. "The curse on your hand," he said, "of what magic is it?"

Dumbledore looked down at his uncovered hand, which was even worse up close. The skin was blackened and shriveled and radiating a positively malignant magic.

"It is of dark and evil magic," the aging headmaster replied calmly.

"Yes, I can see that," Harry reeled his magic in tightly to keep it as far away from the evil oozing from Dumbledore's cursed hand. "It doesn't leave you with much time to live, does it? A year, perhaps a little more, but not much more than that."

Dumbledore looked up, obviously startled. "How did you know that?"

Harry shrugged and finally stood from his chair. "Good night, Headmaster."

* * *

"He's _dying_?" Hermione whispered, the next morning at breakfast. "From what?"

"The curse on his hand," Harry said, "whatever it is it's powerful and evil, really evil."

"Do you think there's a counter?" Ron asked, the seriousness of the situation was proved by the fact that the redhead was completely ignoring his plate full of food.

"If there was don't you think Dumbledore would have found and used it by now?"

"Maybe we could help," Hermione said desperately "What was the curse on his hand?"

"Hell if I know," Harry shrugged, focusing his attention on peeling an orange.

"You could at least act concerned" Hermione cried. "I know you and the headmaster don't get along, but this is more than this disagreement between you two. He's dying, Harry."

Harry sighed and set his orange aside. "Hermione, I know it may not seem like it, but I am very concerned. You're right, Dumbledore and I don't get along, but I would very much prefer it if he would stay alive. I don't like the manipulative old man, but all those opposing Voldemort will be lost without him. But there's nothing we can do for him, that curse isn't just evil, it's alive, it'll take far more than a quick wave of your wand and a simple phrase in Latin to cure him of it.

"I've come to accept the fact that Dumbledore is going to die, and nothing we do will change that. But what we can we do is prepare, we have to teach ourselves how to defend, how to fight, and how to win, because when Dumbledore's time is up Voldemort will take full advantage of our weakness, and there will have to be someone to make sure innocents won't be killed in droves."

"And you think _we _should be the ones to do that?" Ron asked.

"If not us then who?"

"The _adults_."

"The adults?" Harry snorted. "Ron, the adults were the ones who started this whole mess in the first place."

"But what can we do? Against the Death Eaters? Against _Voldemort_?"

Harry sighed and retrieved his orange. "Whatever we have to."


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Harry's first week back at Hogwarts was without a doubt the most exhausting he'd ever experienced, and that was saying quite a bit seeing as his previous year had been O.W.L. year.

He knew it would be a bad week when, at the end of his very first day back in class, he was stuck with a fifteen inch essay and two translations for Ancient Runes, as well as a two foot and sixteen inch essay for DADA and Potions respectively. It was only made worse when Hermione, upon discovering that they had received permission to continue the T.A. had dragged Harry, Ron, Draco, Neville, and Blaise to the Room of Requirements to draw up a lesson plan for the entire year, not to mention the arrival of Harry's first 'lesson' with Dumbledore, which had turned out to be a sore disappointment.

He had arrived in the headmaster's office hoping to receive information that would actually help him and his friends survive the imminent war, instead he was dragged down memory lane to watch a memory of Merope Gaunt, Voldemort's near squib of a mother, be verbally and, to a certain extent, physically abused by her vile father and brother.

Harry had been taught from a young age that a wise man should know his enemy, but he had no idea how knowing that Tom Riddle Jr. was the half blood son of pureblood Merope Gaunt and the bewitched muggle Tom Riddle Sr. would in any way be beneficial to his fight against Voldemort. He made sure to voice this to Dumbledore, who assured him with a promise that it would make more sense their next meeting then sent him off to bed with a benign smile and a metaphorical pat on the head.

The next meeting was only slightly more helpful.

The night of their second lesson, for lack of a better term, was scheduled almost a month after the first and was spent watching two memories, the first of Caractacus Burke reminiscing on the arrival of a filthy, heavily pregnant witch who had sold him an ancient, solid gold locket for only ten galleons, and the second of a young Tom Riddle receiving his invitation to Hogwarts, delivered to him personally by the considerably younger, but no less eccentric, Dumbledore.

It was the latter memory that really interested Harry as it gave him much more insight into how Voldemort was as a child, and to a lesser extent, how he was now. Riddle had been powerful, even at the age of eleven, he was a handsome little thing, and Harry could see that he was incredibly charismatic when he wanted to be, unfortunately, that was only when it would work to his advantage. But he was also arrogant, volatile, and was already well versed in the art of subtle manipulation. He was also quick to anger, incredibly independent, hated being associated with anything normal, if his poorly hidden irritation at sharing his first name with the Leaky Cauldron owner was any indication, and had a superiority complex the size of the British Isles.

But when the lesson ended, Harry was still convinced that their time could be better spent doing something, almost anything else. However, he shoved aside his Gryffindor impatience and comforted himself with the fact that there had to be some greater purpose behind Dumbledore's actions. The question was, would he find out what that purpose was before the old man's passing?

* * *

Loki stifled yet another sigh as he tried to quell his rapidly rising frustration. He'd been in this accursed library for going on three days now, leaving only just long enough to freshen up and perhaps grab a quick bite to eat. But for all the knowledge the archives of Asgard boasted possessing, he had yet to find a single tome to help further him in his so far fruitless quest for information. He'd looked into spells of the darkest sort, rituals that required the sacrifice of an innocent life, but not even the tomes so ancient Loki had feared they would collapse into dust with a single touch were of any help. For, as he told Lily all of those years ago, there had never been a son like his, a child of a divine Æsir and a mortal Seiðr. He could not know if Harry had inherited his longevity, or his mother's mortality, and the libraries of Asgard had proved that they did not know either. They couldn't even tell him _how _to determine his son's mortality.

"Perhaps I'm looking in the wrong place," Loki muttered, reaching for an ancient, handwritten book detailing the rise of the Asgardian race. "I should start from the beginning, go back to our roots and try to find a common-"

"Brother!"

Loki uttered a vehement curse directed at the thunderous voice that had startled him into dropping the ancient and very heavy book onto his foot.

"What do you want, Thor?" he snapped, glaring up at Thor and pointedly ignoring the throbbing pain in his foot.

Thor paused beside the desk Loki had taken up residence and stared down at his younger brother with wide, beseeching blue eyes. "I have been looking all over for you," he said.

"And now you've found me, what do you want?"

"Spar with me?"

"No," Loki said flatly, bending down to retrieve his fallen book.

"Loki."

"I am busy."

"Brother, please."

"Why do you not spar with Lady Sif, or one of the other three oafs?"

"They say they've grown tired of sparring with me," Thor said, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy.

Loki sighed and ran a hand over his tired eyes. He loved his brother dearly, he truly did, but at times he was too much like an overgrown child to be tolerable. But if sparring with him would get that ridiculous expression off of his face and, more importantly, get Thor to _leave him alone_, he supposed he would have to entertain his request.

"One round," he conceded. "One round, then you are to leave me alone to research in peace."

"What is it you're researching?" Thor asked, poking curiously at a stack of books piled precariously at the edge of the desk.

"I was under the impression that you wanted to spar," Loki said drily. "But if you would rather remain here and discuss the rise of our forefathers, I have no objections."

Loki would forever deny the high pitched yelp he emitted when Thor wrapped a large hand around his wrist and yanked him from his seat and out of the library.

"You do know that I am perfectly capable of walking by myself?" Loki quipped sarcastically as he was dragged down the hall in the direction of the training courtyard.

"Yes."

"Then why don't you allow me to do so?"

"I do not trust you not to flee."

"_Unhand_ _me_, _Thor_."

The buff thunder god released the slighter man, pouting as he did so. "Do not run," he cautioned.

Loki scoffed as he carefully straightened his sleeves and smoothed the wrinkles from his tunic. "As if I would lower myself to running away from the likes of you," he sneered. "Now, let's be off, the sooner we get started, the sooner I'll be rid of you."

Thor entered the training yard with all of his usual pomp, taking a few moments to boisterously announce his arrival and knock a few of the trainees around before heading toward the three men and single women idling along the far wall, drinking from their canteens. "My friends!" he greeted cheerfully "I have found my sparring partner."

"Who's the unlucky fellow?" Fandral asked, faux sympathetically.

"Apparently, I am," Loki appeared at his side with nary a whisper, nearly startling the blond man out of his boots.

"You actually agreed to spar with him?" Sif asked incredulously.

"I did," Loki agreed, "if only to get this imbecile to leave me in peace. Now come, Thor, let's get this over with so I can get back to my research."

"Which weapons would you prefer?"

"The usual will suffice," Loki said, drawing his dagger.

Thor laughed incredulously. "You wish to match _that_," he gestured playfully at the small weapon, "in a fight against _this_?" He hefted Mjölnir onto his shoulder. "I must say I'm disappointed brother, when I asked you to spar it was under the assumption that you would actually put up a fight."

"The might of a man is not measured by the size of his weapon, but rather by the force behind its blow. Now will we be sparring?"

"We will," Thor said decisively, moving to one of the many sparring mats dotting the grounds. "First down loses?"

"Correct."

"Rules?"

"None."

"Very well, then let us begin."

Loki bent backward to duck the sudden swing of the enormous hammer, a slight breeze ruffled his hair as it passed only inches over his face. He was barely able to right himself before Mjölnir was aiming to bash in his skull, he threw up an arm to block the blow and grunted with the effort it took to redirect the hammer and the muscled forearm attached to it.

Thor was much larger, and noticeably stronger than Loki, which was nothing new, most people were larger and stronger than him, so he focused instead on speed and agility, using his lean stature to dodge his larger opponent's blows and dart in to strategically slice at vital points until his opponent bled out. If this had been a fight to the death, Loki would have simply severed an important artery and been done with it. But apparently it was frowned upon to kill one of the two princes of Asgard, even if it was the other prince doing the killing.

"Are you fighting or are you dancing, brother?" Thor laughed as Loki slipped beneath his arm and spun nimbly on the balls of his feet to face him just in time to block another heavy swing. He only partially succeeded. "At least give me a challenge!"

Loki sighed softly, dodging a multitude of rapid strikes and sending a flurry of his own back in return, none of which actually landed.

"Have you even landed a hit yet?" Thor taunted.

Loki responded by using the butt of his dagger to punch his brother's pressure points in rapid succession, the great oaf fell with a soft grunt and a thunderous crash.

"Good fight, brother," Loki commended. "Now, if you'll excuse me." He tucked his dagger into the sheath settled at his waist, then made to step over his downed brother, but halted when a large hand wrapped around his ankle.

"Just one more round," Thor pleaded.

"I said one round and one round only, Thor, you will not change my mind. Good day." He easily tugged his ankle from Thor's grasp and marched off. It was obvious to the five warriors left behind that Loki's thoughts had already ventured off to wherever they spent most of their time nowadays.

"Am I the only one who felt that that was a bit odd?" Fandral asked as he helped Thor climb to his feet. "Loki's always been one to draw out a fight, to confound his enemies with his tricks then defeat them in the most humiliating ways possible. But I didn't see him use his magic once. And he didn't even bother to taunt Thor for his loss."

"He has been behaving oddly as of late," Thor agreed. "He's been disappearing at the oddest of times with very little explanation. Just the other day he left the dining hall halfway through his meal and didn't return for hours. And lately he's taken up residence in the library, he told me he was looking into the lives of our ancestors."

"Do you think he's plotting something?" Sif asked.

Thor hesitated, "I-I cannot be certain."

"Whatever it is he's plotting, _if _he even is," Volstagg said, "it doesn't seem to be hurting anyone."

"Not yet, at least," Sif muttered.

"Perhaps he's found himself a lover," Fandral joked, "and has had an illegitimate child with her that he cares for in secret."

"Don't be foolish, Fandral," Sif scoffed, while the three other men howled with laughter at the ridiculous notion, "Loki doesn't have the capacity to love anyone but himself."

* * *

"No, stop, I can't breathe," Harry gasped, leaning heavily onto his father as he shook with laughter.

"It's true," Loki laughed. "I'm sure all nine realms trembled when he hit the ground, and, oh, the look on his face, it was priceless."

"And then you just _left_?"

"Well, I excused myself first."

"Of course," Harry agreed, wiping tears of laughter from his face, "you're no philistine."

"Not at all, I was raised a proper prince of Asgard."

"Don't I know it," Harry muttered, shuffling around until he was in a more comfortable position on the small sofa.

Father and son had foregone their usual training sessions to relax in the Room of Requirements as it had been almost a month since they'd last been in contact, and catch up on all that they had missed. Harry used this opportunity to regale his father with tales of the newly reinstated T.A. which had become even more popular now that it wasn't illegal, his mostly successful attempts at getting out of Slughorn's "Slug Club" meetings, and the alarming amount of girls that had cornered him in the halls with the hopes of procuring an invitation to Hogsmeade from him, stealing a kiss, or, as some of the bolder ones had attempted, copping a feel. And Loki, after laughing heartily at the latter predicament that wasn't really all that bad of a predicament, returned the favor by entertaining him with tales of the more amusing events on Asgard.

But as they fell into a comfortable silence, Harry's carefree smile and eyes bright with laughter fell away and were replaced by a solemnly contemplative expression.

"What it is it, little trickster?" Loki asked, almost immediately catching on to his son's rapidly declining mood.

"I was just wondering when I'll get to meet them," Harry murmured, idly tracing patterns on the arm of the sofa. "Uncle Thor, and Grandmother and Grandfather, and even Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, and not just as some mortal, but as their nephew, their grandson, the son of their sort of friend. Will that ever be a possibility?"

"Of course it will," Loki said, reaching out to run a soothing hand through Harry's dark hair. "But you must be patient for just a bit longer. There are certain factors that deny you your rightful place on Asgard for the moment."

"My mortality?"

"That is one, but not the most important."

"The fact that I'm the bastard son of a lowly mortal and a prince of Asgard?"

"Do not say such things about yourself," Loki snapped.

"But it's true, I am," Harry said sadly. "Is that why I can't go to Asgard? Are you ashamed of me?"

"No!" Loki said sharply. "I could never…don't you ever say something like that again."

"But-"

Loki reached out and grabbed Harry's chin, forcing green eyes to lock with identical green. "Listen to me, Haraldr," he said firmly, brooking no room for argument. "In my countless years I have done many things that I will forever be ashamed of, but you will _never_ be one of those things. If truth be told, you may be one of the only good thing I've done, my greatest success, the triumph of these two very tired eyes. So don't you dare speak of yourself as anything less than the great treasure you are. Am I clear?"

"I…yes," Harry murmured, he rested his forehead on Loki's shoulder and sighed softly when gentle fingers combed through his hair. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize, little trickster, you're insecurities are no one's fault but my own. I should have told you the reason why I have kept you hidden from Asgard sooner."

"What _is _the reason?"

Loki sighed and pulled Harry closer into his side. "I've told you about my father," he said, "how we don't always get along as well as we could. I know he loves me to a certain extent, of that I have no doubt, and I love him dearly. But he views me differently than your uncle, perhaps because of the magic I wield, or because of the mischief I get up to, I may never know. But the way he viewed and treated me spilled over and directly affected my children."

"Your...your _children_?" Harry repeated, pulling away to look up at his father in shock.

"Yes, you are not the first child of Loki, although you are the only one not born of divine blood."

"What happened to the others?"

"They were taken from me, immediately after birth," Loki said grimly. "They were denied their birthrights and cast away from their homeland to be hunted, exiled, and even chained like wild animals."

"But why?" Harry asked appalled. "What could they possibly have done?"

"They were born." Loki's entire demeanor was dark as, for the first time in many years, he recalled the atrocities inflicted upon his children immediately after their births. "The…unconventional means of their conceptions and the identities of their mothers instilled fear and disgust into the hearts of many Asgardians, my father included, so they were exiled to the farthest corners of the universe to be ignored and eventually forgotten."

"But you never forgot," Harry observed.

"Of course not," Loki's laugh was a farce of the happy, carefree sound that had not once failed to cause Harry to join along, "no matter how monstrous and unnatural they may appear, they are my children and, though I knew them for only the scant minutes between their births and their abductions, I love them all dearly."

Harry felt the anger and hatred that always festered just beneath the surface of his psyche, reserved for the madmen and lunatics like Voldemort and Umbridge, latch onto a new target, the people who had put the terrible expression on his father's face.

Between the two of them, Loki had always been stronger physically, magically, and emotionally wise, and he used this advantage to assure that he remain, if not happy, then strong for his son, and when he was neither, he made sure to at least _look_ it. But caught up in the memories of his estranged children, it was obvious that he was unable to do even that. The last time Harry had seen Loki look so…_broken _had been nearly four years ago when, miles and miles under the school, Harry lay in a pool of his own blood with a deadly poison coursing through his veins and death hovering by his side, ready to take him at any moment. Harry had been ready to accept his demise with open arms, and Loki knew it. It had nearly destroyed the man to see his beloved son, still just a babe in his eyes, hovering at death's door while he sat by, unable to do anything to prevent his passing. The same look of defeat that had darkened his eyes that day all of those years ago was once again present, bowing his father's shoulders and adding centuries to his youthful face.

"Can you-can you tell me about them?" Harry whispered, hoping to both pull Loki out of his melancholy and learn more about his newly discovered siblings.

Loki looked torn for a moment, clearly contemplating if he was prepared to discuss his lost children. "I suppose I could tell you a bit about them," he finally assented. "If only because I know how insufferable you and your insatiable curiosity will be if I don't. Just give me a moment to think." The room was silent as Loki gathered his thoughts and pondered where to begin. After several long seconds he finally decided to start with the basics. "You have four siblings," he said plainly, "three brothers and a sister. Fenris is my eldest and most ferocious son, after him is Jormungandr, next was Hela, my only daughter, then Sleipnir. All four were conceived under…unusual circumstances."

"How so?" Harry asked curiously.

Loki winced. "Well, years and years before I met your mother and, as a result, sired you I was a bit off a…hedonist."

"Hedonist?" Harry snorted. "Dad no one says things like that anymore, I believe the term you're looking for is stud."

"_Stud_?" Loki repeated incredulously. "I do believe that that particular term went out of use sometime during the nineteen-fifties."

"Perhaps, but it sounds better than hedonist. Honestly, you sound like some pompous, prick with a stick shoved so far up his arse he has trouble bending over, or a Malfoy."

Loki scowled playfully at the teen, a bit of his usual good humor returning and employed the same tactic he'd used on his brother only a few hours previous. "I was under the impression that you wanted to hear more about your siblings, but if you'd rather spend the night updating my vocabulary, please, be my guest."

"Sorry," Harry laughed. "Please, continue."

"Thank you," Loki sniffed. "Now, as I was saying, before I met your mother I was hardly celibate, in fact I was notorious for my unusual choice of bed partners, the most common one being Angrboda, a beautiful giantess who bore me three of your siblings, Fenris, Jormungandr, and Hela."

"A giantess?" Harry asked curiously. "How does that work?"

"Frost giantess," Loki amended. "Not much larger than I was. But because of the difference of species between us, our children came out looking not quite as they should."

Harry cocked an eyebrow quizzically, silently urging his father to elaborate.

"Fenris can take, and usually prefers, the form of a giant wolf, he can take on the form of a human if he wished to, but he was born a wolf and, most of the time, would rather stay a wolf. Being a man, as he learned quite early on, is not all it is cracked up to be.

"Jormungandr, like his brother, can take on the form of man but usually prefers to remain a beast or, more specifically, an enormous snake. Hela is perhaps the most human of all of my and Angrboda's children, but that isn't saying very much."

"And Sleipnir?"

"Of all my children, you included, he is the least human. There is no shifting from beast to human for Sleipnir, he was born and will die a horse,"

"A horse?" Harry repeated. "Just a normal horse?"

"Well he has eight legs and he is far more intelligent than your average horse."

"But why? Why is he a horse when all the others are human, or as close to human as they can get?"

"I suppose his parentage may have something to do with it," Loki said, purposely vague.

"Care to elaborate," Harry drawled.

"If I must," the older man sighed. "As you know I have the ability to shift my shape."

"An ability you have yet to teach me," Harry grumbled.

"You're not ready for that just yet. Anyway, when Sleipnir was born I was in the form of a horse."

"You had sexwith a woman in the form of a horse?" Harry gaped.

"No."

"Oh, dear Merlin, don't tell me _she _was a horse as well? You got a horse pregnant?"

"No."

"Then what? Please explain, I'm terribly confused right now."

"I birthed Sleipnir."

"What?" Harry yelped.

Loki's eyes shone in amusement, he was clearly enjoying his son's confusion. "I birthed Sleipnir. I must have forgotten to mention that I can change both my shape _and _my gender."

"All right, so let me get this straight," Harry sighed, rubbing a hand over his aching head. "You, in the form of a female horse, had sex," Harry's face screwed up at the mere thought of his father having sex with anyone in any form, "with a male horse, became pregnant with said horse's…foal, and gave birth to my third oldest brother who is _also _a horse, albeit an intelligent, octo-horse."

"Very good."

Harry laughed and shook his head. "I can proudly say that I have the absolute _strangest_ family in history. Take that Addams family."

"But be honest with yourself," Loki said. "Would you rather it any other way?"

Harry grinned up at Loki. "Of course not."

"Good, because I'm afraid it's far too late to find a new one."

"That's all right, although I'd like to be able to meet more than just one member of my family."

"Harry…"

"No, sorry. I just…sorry." The teen sighed and tucked his legs under him. "Do you know where any of them are? My brothers and sister?"

"Of course I do," Loki grimaced. "I know the location of each and every one of my children."

"Where are they?" Harry asked curiously.

"Scattered across the nine realms," Loki said grimly, "tucked away so well not even I can reach them. Sleipnir and Fenris are the only two of my children who were allowed to stay on Asgard, but despite their close proximity, or perhaps because, they are the hardest for me to get to."

"What? Why?"

"When I first introduced Fenris as my son, my father was shocked and somewhat wary, but he accepted him as his grandson and even attempted to raise him. But as Fenris grew older he grew larger until he towered over even the largest of men. Odin and many others began fearing my son's strength and the destruction he could cause if ever angered. So they took him to the island of Lyngvi, and using a fair bit of trickery, chained him in a ribbon that, while deceptively thin, was too strong for even him to break. When I learned of what Odin had done I was furious, I tried to see Fenris, to set him free, but the Allfather forbade me from ever seeing him again," Loki smiled bitterly. "After Fenris, my father no longer accepted my children, he took one look at their monstrous forms and cast them out.

"Jormungandr is somewhere here on Midgard, he has no doubt grown quite monstrous in size, so I'm confused as to why I have yet to find him. Hela was cast into Niflheim, where she was given a realm to rule and the task of watching over the dead. And Sleipnir…" An angry sneer twisted Loki's face. "As I said, Fenris and Sleipnir were the only ones permitted to remain on Asgard. Fenris was tricked, betrayed by the man who had a hand in raising him, and chained to a rock on a desolate island that is visited by no man where he remains to this day. But Sleipnir, he was bridled and trained to be my father's own war stallion. The 'highest honor' is what Odin calls it," Loki scoffed. "My son is nothing more than a glorified war horse and he expects me to feel honored."

"So that's why I can't go to Asgard," Harry whispered.

"Yes," Loki agreed. "I fear that if I were to take you to Asgard Odin would see you as a threat and take you from me. Perhaps I am being overprotective, but considering the circumstances I think I have every right to be."

"I understand," Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's just…I've been hearing tales of Uncle Thor and of Asgard since I was little, it's always been a dream of mine to go there and meet him and Grandmother and Grandfather."

"And you will, I promise you one day you will take up your rightful place on Asgard, but we must wait."

"For what?"

"Odin is growing old," Loki explained, "it won't be much longer before Thor is king, he is a strong warrior, much like my father, but when it comes to his heart he is his mother's son, and for all my brother's flaws, he understands the importance of family. He will welcome you to Asgard with open arms."

"Soon?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Soon," Loki promise, kissing his forehead. "Now enough of this serious talk, what grand adventures have you partaken in since I've been away?"

* * *

"Slughorn's looking for you."

Harry tore his eyes away from the book he'd been paying an obscene amount of attention to for the majority of the day to squint up at his bushy haired friend. "What?"

"Slughorn was asking where you were at lunch," Ron answered for Hermione as he and the others pulled up chairs around the library table.

"Did you tell him where I was?"

"No," Blaise said. "Mostly because we didn't know ourselves. We haven't seen you since breakfast, have you been here the entire day?"

Harry nodded.

"What are you researching?" Hermione asked, peering at the cover of one of the numerous books he had scattered across the table.

"Nothing…Everything."

"Thanks you for that enlightening explanation," Draco drawled sarcastically.

Harry winced. "Sorry, I'm trying to find anything that can give me-_us_ the upper hand against Voldemort and his Death Eaters."

"Have you found anything so far?" Neville asked.

Harry gestured to a long list written out on a sheet of parchment that was half buried under the mess of books. "A few spells we could teach the T.A., but not much else."

"These are brilliant," Neville complimented as he read over the list.

"Thanks," Harry sighed, leaning back in his seat and running a hand through his hair. The gesture was quickly becoming commonplace for the young Slytherin, for the past few days his usually neat hair was stuck in a perpetual bird's nest, it was constantly looking as if he'd only just rolled out of bed, causing quite the stir in the female population of Hogwarts. "But let's not talk about that right now, I've had enough academics for one day. What did Slughorn want?"

"He wanted to let you know that he would be hosting a Christmas party for the Slug Club," Blaise said.

Harry's nose crinkled in disdain. What an awful name. "When is it?"

"A few days before the end of term, the twentieth I believe."

"It's too late to schedule another T.A. meeting," Hermione said, recognizing the scheming glint in her friend's eyes. "You'll just have to suck it up and go."

"But I don't want to," Harry pouted.

"I don't know why, the meetings really aren't all that bad. I mean, he drones on about famous exploits a bit, and he absolutely fawns over McLaggen because he's so well connected, but he gave us some really nice food and he introduced us to Gwenog Jones."

"Gwenog Jones?" Ron asked, eyes widening. "The Gwenog Jones? Captain of the Holyhead Harpies?" Ron and Draco had been the only two in the group not to be invited to Slug Club, Ron had been angered and always became a bit sullen whenever the topic came up, but Draco, while being suitably offended that he'd been overlooked no doubt because of his father's misdeeds, was relieved that he wouldn't be forced to mingle.

Harry shared the blonde's sentiment and did everything in his power to avoid attending, he had managed to turn down every single one of Slughorn's invitations so far with the excuse of being too busy studying for classes, attending lessons with Dumbledore, and planning for the next T.A. meeting, but he knew it would catch up with him eventually.

"Do I have to bring a date?" he asked before Hermione could respond to Ron's question with an answer he really didn't want to hear.

"Yes," Hermione nodded.

"But-"

"You have to bring a date, Harry."

"What if-"

"You have to."

"Why not-"

"_Have to_, Harry."

"Fine," Harry cried, throwing his hands up in defeat. "I'll ask Luna if she want to go with me."

"Sorry, Harry," Neville smiled, not looking the slightest bit sorry, "but Luna already agreed to go with me."

"What about you, Hermione?" Harry asked. "Do you want to go with me? Or have you found a date already?"

Hermione blushed lightly. "Sorry Harry, but I was actually thinking of asking someone else to go with me."

"Who?" Ron demanded sharply. "Do we know the bloke?"

"Yes, I'd like to think we know him quite well."

"Is it that git McLaggen? Or Boot? You've been hanging around him a lot lately."

Hermione looked half amused and half embarrassed. "No, I'm not interested in asking either Cormac or Terry, I was going to ask you," she said.

Ron's mouth fell open. "What?"

"Well, you and Draco are the only two who haven't been invited, Draco has made his opinion of the Slug Club quite clear so I thought you might be interested in going with me."

"So I'm just your rebound?" Ron scowled. "If Draco had wanted to would you have asked him first?"

"Oh shut up with your whining, Weasley," Draco cut in. "Of course she wouldn't have asked me, anyone with a functioning brain can tell that it's _you_ Hermione's been pining after, not me. So say yes to the girl so we can move onto more interesting topics."

Ron's ears turned red as he turned to a flushed but hopeful Hermione. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Of course I'll go to the party with you."

"Brilliant," Hermione beamed. "Now all we need to do is find Harry a date and we're set."

Harry groaned in despair. "Can't I pretend to come down with the flu or something and skip the party altogether?"

"_No_."

* * *

Harry ended up asking Daphne Greengrass, a pretty, blonde Slytherin in his year, to go to the party. She was nice enough and decently intelligent, and they had a pretty good time together chatting with his friends and ducking into shadowy alcoves to avoid Slughorn who seemed determined to introduce Harry to every last one of his "influential guests". When Harry walked her to the staircase leading up to the girl's dorms, she thanked him for a fun night and gave him a quick peck on the lips before retreating to her dorms.

The morning after the party saw Harry and co. boarding the Hogwarts Express, Neville, Hermione, and Blaise on their way to their respective homes, while Harry, Ron, and Draco were headed to the Burrow where they would be spending the holidays with the Weasleys, Narcissa, and a few other guests.

Because all but two of the Weasley children, Fleur, and Narcissa would be staying over Christmas break, Harry, Ron, and Draco were forced to cram into Ron's small room in the attic. It was a much different arrangement than their last visit, but the teens were willing to make sacrifices to accommodate their guests.

The days leading up to Christmas were a hectic but enjoyable affair; everyone was so busy preparing for their guests there was never a moment to be bored, before they knew it, the guest had arrived and it was Christmas day.

The morning passed like any other Christmas morning, it was spent opening gifts, gorging on a hearty breakfast, and generally enjoying each other's company. It was later on in the afternoon when things got a bit more interesting.

Everyone was settling down around the table for Christmas lunch chatting animatedly about various topics when Mrs. Weasley let out a surprised shriek and shot from her seat. "Arthur!" she exclaimed. "Arthur, it's Percy!"

There was a sudden flurry of movement as everyone hurried to look out of the window. Sure enough Percy Weasley was striding across the yard, looking every bit the pompous git Harry remembered him as. But it came as a shock to everyone when they noticed, not only, that he wasn't alone but who he was with.

"He's with the Minister," Mrs. Weasley whispered. "Percy's with the Minister of Magic."

Narcissa climbed to her feet, nervously smoothing her dress as she stepped away from the table. "Perhaps it would be best if I remained out of sight while they're here," she said.

"Good idea," Draco moved to his mother's side and held out his arm. "I'll accompany you to your rooms."

Narcissa gratefully took his arm and together the two blondes left the room. The former Lady Malfoy's whereabouts still remained unknown to near everyone not currently in the room, and it was their express wish that it remained that way.

Only seconds after Draco and Narcissa departed, the back door swung open and Percy stepped into the house. There was a second of awkward silence, then Percy said rather stiffly, "Merry Christmas, Mother."

Mrs. Weasley let out a happy sob and pulled Percy into her arms, clearing the way for the new Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour. "You must forgive this intrusion," he said apologetically. "Percy and I were in the vicinity, working, you know, and he couldn't resist dropping in and seeing you all."

But Percy showed no sign of wanting to greet any of the rest of the family. He stood, poker-straight and awkward-looking, and stared over everybody else's heads. Mr. Weasley, Fred, and George were all observing him, stony-faced.

"Please, come in, sit down, Minister!" fluttered Mrs. Weasley, straightening her hat. "Have a little purkey, or some tooding… I mean-"

"No, no, my dear Molly. "I don't want to intrude, wouldn't be here at all if Percy hadn't wanted to see you all so badly."

"Oh, Perce!" said Mrs. Weasley tearfully, reaching up to kiss him.

"We've only looked in for five minutes, so I'll have a stroll around the yard while you catch up with Percy. No, no, I assure you I don't want to butt in! Well, if anybody cared to show me your charming garden… Ah, that young man's finished, why doesn't he take a stroll with me?"

The atmosphere around the table changed perceptibly. Everybody looked from Scrimgeour to Harry. Nobody seemed to find Scrimgeour's pretense that he did not know Harry's name convincing, or find it natural that he should be chosen to accompany the Minister around the garden when Ginny, Fleur, and George also had clean plates.

Harry sighed softly, it was obvious Scrimgeour had come specifically for him and by agreeing he was allowing the man to get his way, but curiosity had always been his fatal flaw, so Harry stood from the table and smiled winningly at the Minister. "It would be my pleasure."

The sarcasm was lost on Scrimgeour as he simply returned Harry's million watt smile and followed the teen out into the yard. "We'll just take a turn around the garden and Percy and I'll be off. Carry on, everyone!"

Harry followed Scrimgeour across the yard in silence, he could tell that the man was trying to gather the courage to speak to him, but he wouldn't be helping along the process.

"Charming," Scrimgeour finally said, gazing at the Weasley's overgrown, snow covered garden. "Charming."

Harry drew upon every ounce of self-control he possessed to resist rolling his eyes and snorting at the pitiful attempt at a conversation starter. "It is isn't it?" he said after he was sure he had control of himself. He pointed to one of the many indistinguishable lumps of snow. "That one right there is my favorite, really stands out from the rest."

All right, maybe he wasn't completely in control.

Scrimgeour peered at Harry from the corner of his eye, trying to find out if he was being sarcastic or not, but it was obvious he could glean nothing from Harry's carefully blank expression.

"I've wanted to meet you for a very long time," said Scrimgeour, after a few moments.

"Have you?"

"Oh yes, but Dumbledore has, understandably, prevented this."

Harry arched an eyebrow. "Understandably?"

"Yes, well with all the rumors and stories flying about he obviously wanted to keep you out of the spotlight. Especially after all of these whispers of a prophecy…of you being the Chosen One."

And here they were, after several long minutes of beating around the bush Scrimgeour had finally reached the topic he really wanted to discuss.

"I assume that Dumbledore has discussed these matters with you?"

"More or less," Harry said noncommittally.

"I see," Scrimgeour murmured. "And what has he told you?"

Harry smiled blandly. "I'm sorry, Minister, but the Headmaster and I agreed that whatever we discussed would remain strictly between us."

"Oh, of course, if it's a question of confidences, I wouldn't want you to divulge… no, no… and in any case, does it really matter whether you are the Chosen One or not?"

"Does it?"

"Well, of course, to you it will matter enormously," said Scrimgeour with a laugh. "But to the Wizarding community at large… it's all perception, isn't it? It's what people believe that's important."

Harry said nothing. He knew exactly where they were heading, but he was not going to help Scrimgeour get there.

"People believe you are the Chosen One. They think you quite the hero- which, of course, you are, Harry, chosen or not! How many times have you faced He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named now? Well, anyway," he pressed on, without waiting for a reply, "the point is, you are a symbol of hope for many, Harry. The idea that there is somebody out there who might be able, who might even be destined, to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, well, naturally, it gives people a lift. And I can't help but feel that, once you realize this, you might consider it, well, almost a duty, to stand alongside the Ministry, and give everyone a boost."

"Oh, a _duty_?" Harry repeated, amusement tinging his tone. "And what exactly does this _duty _entail?"

"Oh, well, nothing at all onerous, I assure you," Scrimgeour said quickly. "If you were to be seen popping in and out of the Ministry from time to time, for instance, that would give the right impression. And of course, while you were there, you would have ample opportunity to pay a visit or two to a few influential members of the Ministry. I heard you're top of your classes, straight O's if I recall correctly, there are several people in the Department of Education who would be thrilled to meet you. Or perhaps you may be interested in meeting Gawain Robards, my successor as Head of the Auror office. You're a talented young wizard, I could see you going far as an Auror, you could do a lot of good."

"So basically," Harry said, as though he just wanted to clarify a few points, "you'd like to give the impression that I'm working for the Ministry?"

"It would give everyone a lift to think you were more involved, Harry," said Scrimgeour, sounding relieved that Harry had cottoned on so quickly. "'The Chosen One,' you know… It's all about giving people hope, the feeling that exciting things are happening…"

"But if I keep running in and out of the Ministry," said Harry, still endeavoring to keep his voice friendly, "won't that seem as though I _approve _of what the Ministry's up to?"

"Well," said Scrimgeour, frowning slightly, "well, yes, that's partly why we'd like-"

"No, I don't think that'll work at all," Harry interrupted pleasantly. "You see, I don't like some of the things the Ministry's doing. I couldn't possibly show my support for an establishment that I can hardly respect."

Scrimgeour did not speak for a moment but his expression hardened instantly. "I would not expect you to understand," he wasn't near as successful at keeping anger out of his voice as Harry had been. "These are dangerous times, and certain measures need to be taken. You are sixteen years old-"

"Exactly, Minister," Harry cut in once again, "I am sixteen years old, not even out of Hogwarts, and yet you and the fools that follow you like lemmings off a cliff expect me to _save_ your pathetic hides, when, at times, I don't even think you deserve to be saved."

"And what," Scrimgeour said dangerously, "is that supposed to mean?"

Harry scoffed. "Open your eyes, Minister," he said. "Voldemort didn't rise to power in a vacuum, this filthy, bigoted, self-entitled world created him. He took their fear, their hatred, their prejudice and he used it to become powerful, too strong, even, for your great Albus Dumbledore, leader of the light, to defeat. It took a power that you will never understand to subdue him, and even with that he wasn't gone for long.

"But, what's worse, when he returned it took a year to admit he was back. A year where, not you specifically, but quite a few high ranking Ministry members slandered me and my name just so the people of the wizarding world could keep their heads buried in the sand for just a little longer. And now that you've finally admitted his return you've come to pick me up out of the filth you pushed me in, dust me off, and send me off to save the world," Harry sneered disgustedly at the Minister. "You barely deserve forgiveness so don't come to me asking for salvation."

"So that's it?" Scrimgeour said, turning a dangerous shade of red in near apoplectic rage. "You'll just leave our people to suffer at the hands of Voldemort?"

"I won't," Harry said calmly. "If it comes down to it, I'll kill him just like I did when I was a baby, and I'll even go one step further and make sure that he _stays _dead this time. But I'm not doing it for you or _your_ people, I'm doing it for mine." Harry gestured to the Burrow. "For the people who deserve to be saved, to live without having to constantly check their back for curses. And if, in the process, I save a few people who _don't _deserve to be saved, well then maybe they'll see this bloody, violent, pointless war as a learning experience. And maybe, I'm keeping my fingers crossed, they'll change their views and how they treat those considered inferior."

"And if they don't?"

Harry shrugged. "Then don't come to me when you find yourself dealing with another dark lord in another few years, because I won't save your sorry arses again."

"Duly noted," Scrimgeour said coldly.

Harry grinned sunnily. "Excellent. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a dessert to get to."

"Mr. Potter?"

The teen paused halfway through turning back toward the Burrow. "Yes?"

"What is Dumbledore up to?" Scrimgeour asked. "Where does he go when he is absent from Hogwarts?"

Harry looked at the man disbelievingly. He was remarkably persistent, he'd give him that. "No idea."

"And you wouldn't tell me if you knew, would you?"

"No, I wouldn't."

"Well, then, I shall have to see whether I can't find out by other means."

Harry snorted "You can try," he said. "But you seem cleverer than Fudge, so I'd have thought you'd have learned from his mistakes. He tried interfering at Hogwarts. You might have noticed he's not Minister anymore, but Dumbledore's still headmaster. I'd leave Dumbledore alone, if I were you."

Scrimgeour's eyes flashed cold and hard behind his wire-rimmed glasses "Dumbledore's man through and through, aren't you, Potter?"

"And right there, Minister, is yet another reason why us working together would not be beneficial for your continued mental health," Harry said coldly. "I am no one's man but my own."

* * *

"So, I heard you met with our newest Minister of Magic over the break."

Harry nodded his head, he had only just returned from the Burrow the day before but already he was in Dumbledore's office, sitting his next "lesson".

"I did," the teen said. "But by the time we parted ways I got the distinct impression that he was less than pleased with me."

"I've been noticing that Minister Scrimgeour seems to be finding himself less than pleased with quite a few people as of late, myself included."

"Yes, well he wanted me to tell the wizarding community what a fantastic job the Ministry was doing, but when I refused he got a bit...prickly."

"As most men do when they're denied what they feel they're entitled to," Dumbledore said. "It was Fudge's idea originally, you know. During his last days in office, when he was trying desperately to cling to his post, he sought a meeting with you, hoping that you would give him your support."

Harry snorted and shook his head. "If he believed even for a second that I would willingly help him after everything he's done to me, he's even more of a fool than I'd initially been led to believe. And that's quite a feat."

"I told Cornelius there was no chance of it," Dumbledore agreed, "but the idea did not die when he left office. Within hours of Scrimgeour's appointment we met and he demanded that I arrange a meeting with you."

"And when you denied him he took it upon himself to find a different way to get in contact with me," Harry frowned, he hadn't appreciated the Minister's idea to use Percy to get into the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley had been devastated when she realized that Percy hadn't come home to make amends with his estranged family, but rather to give his boss the chance to talk to Harry.

"That he did," Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "But onto other news, I have two more memories to show you this evening, both obtained with enormous difficulty, and the second of them is, I think, the most important I have collected."

Harry listened attentively as Dumbledore prefaced the two memories with details of Tom Riddle' arrival at Hogwarts and the years following. There wasn't much to cover as, outside of his exemplary performance in his classes and becoming one of the school's prefects, Riddle always remained just below the radar. But from the little that Dumbledore had been able to gather, Harry learned that Riddle had been obsessed with his parentage. At first he had believed that it was his father who was the wizard, for if it was his mother who had magic in her blood, how had she allowed herself to die? But after searching everywhere from the Hogwart's trophy room to the extensive library and finding nothing on a Tom Riddle Sr., Riddle was forced to consider the fact that it was his mother who had given him his magic. With only his middle name, Marvolo, to go upon he began his search anew, and it wasn't long after that he found what he was looking for. It was in an old book that was devoted Wizarding families that he discovered the existence of Slytherin's surviving line, and, using the information that he had found, he set out the summer of his sixteenth year to find his relatives.

The first memory took Harry back to the little shack he'd first seen Merope and he horrible father and brother, but it was darker and dirtier, the only inhabitant was the Gaunt son, Morfin, slumped in a grimy chair set in the center of the room and surrounded by empty bottles. He was roused from his state of inactivity, however, when Riddle Jr. entered the hovel, Morfin worked himself into a right tantrum at the sight of the boy who looked so like the man who had been, in his opinion, a large part in bringing dishonor to his family. Riddle remained calm as Morfin shouted and swore, angrily recounting how his sister had ran off with the muggle man who lived in the big house "over they way", only to have the muggle man return not long after, his wife nowhere to be found and claiming to have been bewitched. But just as Morfin was working himself into a rage over Riddle's presence, the teen swooped toward him, wand drawn, then the memory went black.

It had gone dark, as Harry soon learned, because Riddle had wiped his uncle's memory, killed his father and grandparents in Little Hangleton, then pinned the blame on Morfin, but not before stealing the Peverell ring and later using it to create his second Horcrux.

The second memory was, to Harry's disgust, set in Slughorn's office during one of his infamous Slug Club meetings. Compared to the rest of the memories this one was...boring, nothing was happening but idle chit chat and not-so-subtle schmoozing. Harry was about to question the purpose of the memory when a heavy white fog clouded the memory and Slughorn's voice rang out through the mist, unnaturally loud, "You'll go wrong, boy, mark my words."

But before he could figure out what was going on, the fog cleared and the people in the memory continued on as if nothing had happened. Slughorn, upon noticing the time, herded the students out of his office, but Riddle hung behind, it became apparent why when he slyly asked the jovial professor about Horcruxes. And just like the first time, a dense white fog settled over the memory and Slughorn's voice could be heard shouting at Riddle, warning him away from the subject of Horcruxes, telling him that he knew nothing of them and that he didn't want to hear the teen speaking about them again. And then a confused Harry was sucked out of the memory and found himself in Dumbledore's office once again.

He wasted no time in asking what had happened, and Dumbledore wasted no time in answering his questions. The memory had been tampered with by Slughorn himself, the man had been so ashamed by what he had inadvertently done, he changed his own memory, and it was Harry's job to retrieve the real one.

After receiving his "homework", Harry gratefully left Dumbledore's office and trudged down to the common room where he promptly fell into bed and began plotting from the privacy of his bed sheets.

* * *

_APPARITION LESSONS _

_If you are seventeen years of age, or will turn seventeen on or before the 31st August next, you are eligible for a twelve-week course of apparition Lessons from a Ministry of Magic apparition instructor. Please sign below if you would like to participate. Cost: 12 Galleons. _

"Finally!" Blaise exclaimed gleefully when he, Harry, and Draco entered the common room the next morning and found the notice on the board by the entrance. "I've been waiting for this all year."

Harry's nose scrunched in distaste. "I don't like apparating all that much, or any wizarding forms of transportation for that matter, they're all very unpleasant, Muggle cars take a while to get you to where you're trying to go, but they're much more pleasant, and somewhat safe."

"Somewhat, being the operative word," Draco said. "But the moment some inebriated muggle gets behind the wheel of one of those contraptions it's over for the rest of the poor sods sharing the road with him. By the time the muggle Aurors arrive there will be nothing left but a few twisted hunks of metal and the bloody remains of the muggles caught in the crossfire."

"Yeah, I think you watched a bit too much telly this summer," Harry snorted, clapping Draco on the shoulder. "Now come on, we don't have much longer before breakfast ends."

When the three Slytherins arrived at the Great Hall and dropped down at the Ravenclaw table it was to find Neville, Ron, and Hermione already seated around the table, discussing the upcoming apparition lessons as they ate.

"I'd better pass my test first time," said Ron, looking anxious. "Fred and George did, they'll never let me hear the end of it if I don't."

"When can we take the test?" Harry asked.

"Soon as we're seventeen. That's March for me!"

Harry sighed glumly. "I won't be seventeen until the end of July."

"Bad luck, mate," Blaise said. "But what do you think the lessons will be like? How do you teach someone how to Apparate?"

"We'll probably be learning visualization and control more than anything," Hermione explained. "Learning to Apparate isn't that difficult, it's actually getting to the place you want to go without splinching, leaving parts of your body behind, that's the tricky part. You need to be able to clearly see where you want to go before Apparating, that's why it's pretty much impossible to Apparate to a place you've never been to before."

"That doesn't sound too bad," Ron said around a mouthful of eggs. "We just need to visualize, how hard can that be?"

* * *

"Destination, determination, deliberation," Ron mocked, stalking out of the Great Hall irritatedly. "What a load of hippogriff shit."

Harry and Hermione exchanged amused glances as they followed the irate redhead out of the hall. The group of sixth years had just completed their first Apparation lesson of the year and, as Ron's less than stellar mood proved, it hadn't gone all that well.

The lesson had begun with their Apparation instructor, Wilkie Twycross, giving them a brief explanation of Apparation and he intended to cover during their lessons, then he introduced the three D's: Destination, Determination, and Deliberation. In order to Apparate one had to fix their mind on the destination, focus their determination to occupy the visualised space, then turn on the spot and, moving with deliberation, apparate. It was quite simple in theory, but actually doing the apparating was completely different. Harry had no trouble focusing on exactly where he wanted to go which, in this case, was an old fashioned wooden hoop set on the floor several feet in front of him, but whenever he actually tried to apparate the results were disappointing.

The first attempt had him and nearly everyone else in the room falling over, but Twycross didn't seem surprised by their failure and simply ordered them to try again. The second attempt wasn't much better, nor was the third. On the fourth, however, Susan Bones managed to apparate into her hoop but in the process splinched herself, leaving her left leg where she'd originally been standing. The Heads of Houses were able to reunite her with her wayward limb no problem, but after that the Hufflepuff seemed understandably reluctant to try apparating again.

By the end of the lesson Susan's splinching remained the most exciting thing that had happened in the class and many, like Ron, left the hall disgruntled with their progress.

"Don't worry, Ron," Hermione said reassuringly, "that was only the first lesson, I'm sure the next one will be better."

"It better be," he grumbled. "I wasted a lot of energy twirling around the room like a ponce. Who wants to go to the kitchen and grab something to eat?"

The others all voiced their agreement and altered their course to take them to the kitchens, all but Draco.

"I just need to grab my bag from the dorm first," the blonde said. "I got a letter from mother today and I've been meaning to write a response all day. I'll meet you guys down there, all right?"

"Sure thing," Neville said. "We'll make sure Ron doesn't eat everything, yeah?"

Draco followed them down to the dungeons but when they turned down the corridor that led to the kitchen he continued down several more flights of stairs to the Slytherin dorms.

He passed through the common room undisturbed, it was, for the most part, empty. The younger years were scattered around the school, hanging out with friends, or studying in the library, while the older ones, mostly those who had just attended the apparition lessons had gravitated toward the library as it was raining heavily outside. The only people in the sixth year dorms were Crabbe and Goyle who were sitting on Crabbe's bed discussing something quietly.

Draco nodded at them as he crossed the room to his bed. When they were younger, Crabbe and Goyle had been the closest things to friends Lucius had allowed him to have, though they qualified more as lackeys than friends. But when he was accepted into Harry's group he unconsciously began drifting away from the two boys until they were nothing more than distant acquaintances.

As Draco unlocked his trunk and began rummaging through its unusually messy contents Crabbe and Goyle stood from the bed and moved closer to him.

"How have you been, Malfoy?" Crabbe asked, leaning against the frame of Harry's bed which stood directly beside Draco's, barely three feet away. "We haven't seen much of you lately."

"Yeah," Goyle agreed. "We visited the manor this summer, but by the time we got there neither you or your mother could be found. Your houseguest wasn't happy at all."

Draco only had half a second to process the words before a meaty fist collided with the side of his head and sent him sprawling to the ground.

"What the-" his enraged shout was cut off by a brutal kick to his stomach a barked, "Shut up!"

Goyle hauled him up to by his collar and slammed him against the wall with such force the windows rattled.

"The Dark Lord gave us a special mission this Yule," Goyle said. "He wanted us to get you alone and persuade you to..._rethink _this crazy idea of abandoning us, the winning side, for Dumbledore's."

"I didn't abandon him for Dumbledore," Draco gasped, struggling to draw breath, the tight hold Goyle had on his collar was restricting his airways. "I abandoned him for Harry."

Crabbe and Goyle guffawed derisively. "Ah, loyalty, how adorable. But you might want to forget about whatever devotion you may have for the boy wonder and revert back to the Dark Lord's side. But if you're having trouble remembering where your true allegiances lie, that's all right, the Dark Lord gave us permission to use whatever means necessary to..._remind_ you."

Draco gaped at the two teens, never had he seen them act so ruthless, so _Slytherin_. Before they'd grown apart they'd had about three brain cells between the two of them, had they changed as much as he had, or had he really misjudged them that much?

He was jolted from his bewildered thoughts when Goyle snapped him forward then slammed him back against the wall, Draco's head cracked against the unforgiving stone and stars danced across his vision.

"Pay attention," Goyle snapped. "So what'll it be, Malfoy, will you come to your senses or do we have to persuade you? It doesn't really matter to us which you decide, either way we still win."

Instead of verbally responding, Draco gave his answer by kicking Goyle square in the groin, it was a low blow and he knew it, but with his wand lying wherever it had rolled when Crabbe had first hit him, he had very few options available. Besides it worked better than any hex could.

Goyle dropped him the moment his foot hit its mark and doubled over, cupping his groin protectively, Draco used this advantage to stagger a bit drunkenly toward the door. Unfortunately, he had no time to immobilize Crabbe, so he had to dodge the other teen's curses. Any other day and this wouldn't have been a problem, but the repeated blows to his head had severely affected his motor skills and, after barely making it halfway to the door, he was hit with a tripping jinx and crashed to the ground with a pained yelp.

"What the hell are you playing at, Malfoy?" Crabbe snarled. "_Carpe Retractum_." It was as if an invisible rope wrapped itself around his ankles and yanked him backward. He flew back and hit the window with such force he knew that if it hadn't been magically reinforced, it would have cracked.

"You little shit," Goyle gasped, staggering to his feet with a bit of help from Crabbe. "You're going to regret doing that."

Crabbe laid a hand on his friends arm and glared meaningfully at him. "Get your revenge," he muttered, "but don't forget the mission. The Dark Lord wouldn't appreciate us killing him."

"Fine," Goyle snarled, "but I'm going to make him bleed."

Crabbe shrugged. "As long as it isn't permanent."

Draco was chilled by both the meaning behind their words and the complete indifference they were delivered with. These weren't the large, oafish boys he'd once known, he decided, the Dark Lord had changed them, taken what they had once been and twisted them, using means Draco didn't even want to begin contemplating.

It was at that moment he realized just how grateful he was for his friends, if it hadn't been for them he could have turned out like Crabbe and Goyle. If he had turned Harry away, refused his hand in first year, he would have continued believing in his father's ideals, believing that people like Hermione, who was not only a brilliant witch but an amazing friend, were worthless, that purebloods like Ron and Neville needed to be eradicated because they didn't share the same ideals as the Death Eaters. Everything that he was, everything that made him _him_ would have been slowly, subtly altered until he was the perfect Death Eater, ready to give up his wealth, his reputation, his life for the most menial of tasks, as long as the Dark Lord was behind the orders.

Goyle hobbled painfully across the room, his face twisted in an angry snarl as he reached out and grabbed Draco by the roots of his hair. He pulled Draco to his knees and used the awkward position to knee him repeatedly in the stomach, chest, and, at times, under his chin.

"Greg," Crabbe barked when, after a particularly vicious blow to his chest, one of Draco's ribs snapped. "The mission."

Goyle pushed Draco away, the blond teen slid down the wall struggling to draw breath. "Will you renounce all ties to Potter and his lackeys and join your rightful place at the Dark Lord's side?"

Draco coughed, blood splattered across the floor and dribbled down his chin. "_Voldemort_," he rasped, "and his perfect pureblood ideals can burn in hell."

Crabbe muttered a spell, Draco hacked and coughed then began spitting up snails. The slimy texture and the horrible taste of their mucus made him shudder and vomit, but all that came up were more snails.

"Agree to take the Dark Mark, Malfoy," Crabbe demanded, ending the spell.

Draco took in several gulps of much needed air before whispering, "No."

A booted foot lashed out and kicked him in the chest, snapping another one of his ribs. "You will take the Dark Mark."

He shook his head frantically. "I-I won't."

"_Deprimo_."

Draco gasped as he pitched forward onto his hands and knees, an enormous pressure was bearing down on him, it was as if the very air around him had become weighted and was trying to force him into the ground and further. His arms quaked with the effort it took to keep himself from being ground into the floor, but it became too much for his fragile bones to take; the bone in his left arm snapped and he fell closer to the floor, supporting himself on only one arm.

"Take the Mark."

"N-no," Draco gasped, blood was freely dripping from his mouth now, and, if the warmth trailing along his jawline and over his lips was anything to go by, so were his ears and nose.

When the pressure nearly doubled, Draco's arm finally buckled and he collapsed to the ground, right on top of his two broken ribs and fractured arm. His cry of pain was muffled in the carpet his face was pressed into, if Crabbe didn't let up soon he'd have more to be worried about than a few broken ribs.

"Just give up, Malfoy!" Goyle shouted. "Say you'll join."

"No," he sobbed. This was agony, agony that would lead to his ultimate demise, but he'd sooner be dead than under Voldemort's control.

"Don't be an i-"

Goyle's words were cut off by a thunderous crash, the blood pounding in his ears made it hard to hear, but Draco thought he heard someone yelling, then suddenly the pressure was gone and he was being rolled over on his back. That was a bad move as he immediately began choking on the blood filling his mouth.

"Oh Godric, I'm sorry, hold on, Draco. Everything's going to be all right." There was the sound of someone fumbling for something, then, "_Anapneo_."

Draco's mouth and lungs cleared of any blood and he was able to breathe once again, though each inhalation caused a spike of agony to shoot through his chest.

"Draco...Draco can you please open your eyes for me, please," the familiar voice was made unfamiliar by panic and hysteria.

Unable to bare hearing his friend so upset, Draco forced his eyes open and blinked up at wide, overbright green eyes.

"Oh thank Merlin, you're alive," Harry gasped. "What did those bastards do to you? How badly are you injured?"

Draco briefly contemplated downplaying his injuries, but he quickly discarded that notion, his dishonesty would be sniffed out almost as soon as he opened his mouth and it would earn him nothing but grief when he had healed well enough for Harry to not feel bad about hexing him. So he settled for whispering a simple, "Bad."

"Just-just hang in there, all right?" Harry said trying desperately to mask his horror, though he didn't quite succeed. Blood was still oozing sluggishly from Draco's nose and ears and every now and then he'd cough up a mouthful of blood. "I need to get you to Madame Pomfrey."

"No!" Draco cried, he shot up into a sitting position but then he let out a cry of pain and fell back onto the carpet, this time on his side, and curled protectively around what looked to Harry to be his broken arm.

"What do you mean 'no'?" Harry cried. "You're seriously hurt, you said so yourself. You need someone who can help you."

"Voldemort sent them, for-for...me," the blonde gasped. "He wants me to join the Death Eaters." He paused to hack up a lungful of blood before doggedly continuing. "I...have to deal with them...send the Dark Lord a message, but I can't if the Headmaster finds out what they did."

"We can worry about revenge and sending messages to Voldemort later, but you need help, even if that means turning Crabbe and Goyle in."

Draco grabbed Harry's wrist. "Dobby, my house elf, he can heal me, he can help. Dobby!"

There was a soft _pop_ and a familiar wrinkly, little house elf appeared in the dorms, the same elf that had tried to stop Harry from going to Hogwarts his second year. It seemed the elf recognized him too, as his already bulbous eyes widened frighteningly, but then his gaze settled on Draco and he completely forgot about Harry.

"Master Draco!" Dobby squeaked throwing himself down beside Draco. "You is bleeding!"

"Yes, I know," Draco wheezed. "I've been injured and I need you to heal me. Right now."

Dobby let out a horrible wail and began banging his head on the nearest bedpost. "Dobby does not know how!" he cried in between blows. "Dobby's healing magic is limited to scraped knees and little bruises. Dobby is a bad elf! Bad elf!"

"Stop it, Dobby," Harry shouted grabbing the elf and roughly yanking him away from the bed. "Draco needs you to be helping, not punishing yourself."

Dobby sniffled pathetically. "Dobby cannot help," he whimpered.

"Yes, you can. Now, can you apparate around the school?"

Dobby nodded.

"Can you bring people with you when you do?"

This time he shook his head. "Dobby is not a Hogwarts house, he cannot transport anyone around the school, not even students."

"But Hogwarts house elves can?"

Another nod.

"Good, I need you to go down to the kitchens and find my friends." Harry quickly described the four teens still waiting for him and Draco in the kitchens. "Tell them that there's been an emergency and that they need to get to the Slytherin dorms immediately. Get the Hogwarts house elves to bring them up, but do not under any circumstances be seen by anyone else."

Dobby nodded frantically then apparated out of the room.

The moment the house elf was gone, Harry threw up several silencing and locking wards on the door, they had one other roommate, Theodore Nott, and though the boy had remained neutral thus far, Harry didn't want to risk him stumbling upon Draco in his vulnerable position. He then turned his wand on his friend and carefully levitated him onto his bed.

"Draco," he said striving and, this time for the most part succeeding, to keep his voice calm, "can you tell me everything that you know is wrong with you? I'm going to try my best to heal whatever I can until I can get you some real help."

Panicked gray eyes looked up at him. "Not Pomfrey?"

"Not Pomfrey," Harry assured. "Now tell me."

Draco hesitated, then slowly began speaking. "I hit my head a few times on the wall." He winced when Harry gently placed a hand on the back of his head, it came away bloody. "G-Goyle knocked me around a bit, punched me in the head, kicked me in the gut a lot, broke a few of my ribs." He trailed off as he began choking on his blood again, Harry waved his wand and cleared the blood from his lungs. "They made me spit up snails and-and put me under Deprimo."

"For how long?" Harry demanded.

"Five, maybe ten minutes, I couldn't really tell, it felt like an eternity."

Harry sucked in a horrified breath. "That explains the blood," he whispered.

There was a series of soft pops that heralded the arrival of his friends.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, slowly moving toward him. "What's going on, the house elf said-" she gasped and backed up several steps when she saw Draco, and he didn't blame her, his face was smeared with blood that was still flowing, a large black bruise was forming on his left temple, and he was struggling to draw breath. "Oh my...what happened?"

The others rushed toward the bed and exclaimed in horror when they saw Draco. "Harry..."

"I don't have time to explain," Harry snapped as he waved his wand over Draco, vanishing his shirt and revealing the plethora of bruises riddling his chest. "I'll explain later, right now I need Ron and Blaise, to bind them," he gestured with his head to the stunned forms of Crabbe and Goyle, "and shove them in a corner or something, just get them out of the way. Hermione, go in my trunk, in the compartment on the far right is a stone, it's small, flat, and blue and has a rune carved into the face. Get it for me." The three nodded and took off to do their respective tasks without wasting a second to question him or his orders. "Neville, I need your help healing him as best as we can."

"Why don't we take him to Pomfrey?" Neville asked, even as he rolled up his sleeves and drew his wand.

"Draco is adamant we not alert the professors. He has a broken arm and two broken ribs, help me set them and make him as comfortable as possible until I can get some help, he has to remain on his backs while we heal him but he runs the risk of choking on his blood. The spell to clear his lungs is _Anapneo_. He was also put under a depression curse and I think it may have done some damage internally, but I can't be certain."

"I don't know how to heal internal injuries but broken bones are right up my alley. As long as his ribs are fractured and not completely broken there's not much we can do for them," Neville said. "I don't think we need to worry about them being broken and poking into anything they shouldn't be, if they were we'd know. How about you check anyway while I set his arm."

Harry nodded, thankful for Neville's steady presence and calm attitude even in the face of a crisis. Just being near the teen calmed his racing hands and steadied his shaking hands. "All right." He cast a rudimentary diagnostic spell over Draco's ribcage and sighed in relief when it showed that his ribs was only fractured. "He'll be fine, I don't know any spells to heal fractured ribs, but they'll be fixed soon enough, he's not in danger from them for now. How are you, Draco?"

"Just peachy," the Malfoy heir rasped. He attempted to smile, but it quickly dropped away when, with a teeth curling scraping, Neville set the bone. Draco screamed out in pain, but it tapered off into a gargled choking when he inhaled a mouthful of blood.

"_Anapneo. _What the hell, Nev," Harry cried. "Why didn't you warn us?"

"_Ferula_," Neville effortlessly splint and bandaged Draco's arm before answering the somewhat hysterical question. "If I had given you warning Draco would have tensed up and it would have been worse."

"Worse? Can it get any worse than this?" Harry gestured to the bed, he had to bite back a sob when he saw the sorry state his friend was in. Draco was shivering violently, a warning that he was going into shock, his ears and nose had stopped bleeding but blood was still smeared across his face, painting the ash gray skin a horrible crimson, tears were cutting a trail through the bloody mess and Harry could see that every breath he took pained him greatly. "You're going to be all right, Draco. Just hang in there for a bit longer. Hermione where's that stone?"

"Here." She ran to his side and shoved the softly glowing stone into his hand.

Ignoring the inevitable consequences of using the last of his magic in summoning his father, he focused his energy and poured everything he had and just a bit more into the stone. The soft blue glow of the stone intensified into a blinding light that could have lit the room no problem if it had been a bit later in the evening.

"Harry, what is that?" Hermione asked, then scowled at the single worded, not at all helpful answer he responded with.

"Help."

* * *

"...a single blow to the chin from Mjölnir had the scoundrel lying prone on his back begging for mercy, so I let him be. But the fight was not over yet! Just as I had turned my back, another opponent rushed forward, no doubt under the impression that he would be avenging his brother-in-arms, but I..."

Loki rolled his eyes and tuned his brother out, he had been going on about his glorious fight with one of the few palace guards still willing to spar with him since the two brothers and their parents had settled down for their evening meal. Loki had entertained him for the first half hour, he had even thrown in a few exclamations of shock and awe. But it was nearing the hour mark and his patience was beginning to wear thin.

In an attempt to ward off his complete loss of sanity for just a bit longer, Loki distracted himself by idly pushing his watercress around his plate, using his fork to arrange it into the shape of a...bird? Or perhaps it was a flower? He wasn't entirely certain.

Loki only just held back a groan of frustration when Thor brought his attention back to him when his voice rose in his excitement, it was only the thought of what Frigga would say that kept him from voicing his frustration. _A proper prince of Asgard does not grunt and groan like a bitch in heat._

Perhaps if I turn his tongue into a snake he would stop talking, Loki mused silently. It would be temporary of course, but it would give him a brief reprieve from his brothers constant boasting. Just as he was contemplating the merits of the idea a sudden pain burned into his leg and he leapt from his seat, shouting out several vulgar curses in surprise.

"Loki Odinson!" Frigga cried out in outraged surprise; Loki had his moments but it was usually her eldest who swore in her company. "Do not use such foul language at the table."

The dark haired man ignored his mother for the moment as he rummaged around in his pockets, there could only be one source of the burning and it had never gotten this hot before.

Finally he pulled the stone from his pocket and immediately his heart clenched, it was shining so bright when he looked away spots were dancing before his eyes. Harry must have put every ounce of magic he had into the stone, he wasn't calling because he missed Loki, this was urgent, something was wrong.

"Please excuse me, Mother, Father, brother," he whispered already heading for the door. "I have urgent business to attend to." Then he turned and strode quickly from the room.

Ignoring his family's calls and the startled looks the servants he passed shot him, he hurried down the hall, attention focused intently on the open window at the end of the hall. He ran the last few yards then leapt out the window, but before he could even begin to fall, he smoothly transitioned into the form of a raven and flew away. He could hear the screams and shouts of surprise coming from the castle, but he knew that by the time his parents and brother found out what had happened, he would be long gone.

Putting aside the worries of the ramifications his actions would bring, Loki flapped his powerful wings and soared over Asgard. At any other time he would have reveled in the feeling of flying far above the heads of his people, hidden from even Heimdall's sight, but his son was potentially in danger, he had no time to enjoy himself. He flew over the Bifrost, past the roaring waterfalls, and through the forest, he didn't slow when he reached the mountains, he continued flying even as they drew closer and closer. Just as he was in danger of colliding into the mountain face, he tucked his wings and rocketed through a crack in the rock that was barely big enough to fit his shrunken form. There was a moment of disorientation as he was thrown around, as if his small bird form had been caught in winds too strong for it to handle, then suddenly he was spat out onto the floor of a familiar forest. Pleased that, for once, he had managed to land exactly where he wanted, Loki picked himself up off of the ground and used the stone to transport himself directly to his son's location.

The scene he found himself in was not at all what he expected; his son and his friends were all crowded around a bed, looking pale and worried, but otherwise unharmed.

Relief coursed through his body and he allowed himself to relax, his son was safe. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to bask in the feeling long. Upon hearing the telltale sound of his arrival, the group of teens spun around, wands drawn and pointed at him, the motion gave him a better look at his son and he didn't like what he saw.

Harry's hands and the front of his shirt was stained red with blood, his face was deathly pale, and even though he was on the other side of the room, he could see his hands were trembling violently.

"You're bleeding!" Loki exclaimed, hurrying across the room and grabbing Harry by his shoulders. "What has happened? Where are you hurt?"

"It's not me, it's Draco," Harry tugged Loki to the bedside so he could see his friend.

Loki sucked in a startled breath, the boy was severely hurt, he could see that his son and his friends had tried to heal him but there was only so much a group of teenagers could do, especially considering the extent of the boy's injuries.

"What happened?"

"I can explain later" Harry said desperately. "But, please, can you heal him first?"

Loki took a deep, steadying breath as began surveying Draco's injuries. "I...of course," he murmured, moving closer to the bedside. "Hello, young Mr. Malfoy," he said softly, running a gentle hand through the teen's hair. "How are you this evening?"

Draco choked out a weak chuckle. "To be honest, sir, I've had better days."

"I think we can all agree to that. Now, I just want you to hold still so I can do a quick scan on you, then I'll fix you up. You'll be as good as new in no time."

"That day can't come any sooner,"

Loki laughed as he hovered a hand, which was glowing soft green with magical energy, over Draco's body, checking for injuries. "You've somehow managed to procure two fractured ribs, a broken arm which has been set and bound remarkably well, severe bruising along your abdomen, a concussion as a result of the blow to the back of your head, and severe internal bleeding, which is, no doubt, the reason blood is coming from place it normally shouldn't." He gestured to the blood smeared Draco's face. "But don't worry, it's nothing beyond my capabilities of fixing. Although I must warn you, mending the bones will be less than pleasant.

"Unpleasant?" Draco repeated hoarsely. "I wonder how that would feel."

Loki grinned at him, he could see why his son was friends with the boy, he managed to hold onto a sliver of his pride even when he was lying bloody and beaten, hacking up blood, and completely vulnerable to any who wished to do him harm.

"Don't worry, Draco," he murmured, laying a magically charged hand on Draco's torso, "you'll be all right."

The room fell silent as Loki closed his eyes and began murmuring softly, the hair on the back of Harry's neck stood on end as the room became charged with energy. For several minutes there was no noticeable difference, the bruises remained just as dark as they'd been before Loki's arrival and every now and then Harry had to clear the blood from Draco's lungs. But then slowly they began fading from a dark purple to a light blue, until they were completely gone, leaving behind pale, flawless skin. Draco sucked in a strangled breath when the bones in his arm and ribs knitted themselves back together, but he was soon able to breathe easy again.

"You're ribs and arm will be a bit tender for a few more days, so try not to put too much strain on them," Loki told Draco as he retracted his hand. "It's dangerous to use magic on the head, even if it's to heal, so I was unable to heal your concussion. But you won't be in any danger from it, just make sure you don't bang your head anymore and you should try to refrain from being alone for the next few days you'll need someone to get you immediate medical attention if it were to worsen."

"Yes, sir," Draco said obediently. "When can I get out of bed?"

Loki snorted. "You may get up now. But go easy on your body, you'll be sore for a bit and it wouldn't do for you to injure yourself all over again. I don't think I'll be able to make such a daring escape from the castle again."

"Daring escape?" Harry parroted. "What do you mean?"

"Well, let's just say you summoned me in the middle of the evening meal and my fastest means of escape was through the window."

"You jumped out of a window?"

"Well I shifted into a raven once I was airborne," Loki defended himself. "Though I don't believe anyone saw me doing so. I'm fairly certain I gave my old nursemaid a heart attack with that stunt."

"What will Grandmother and Grandfather say when you get back?" Harry asked worriedly. "Will you get in trouble?"

"I am several millennia old, far too old to be sent to my room for a little mischief. Your grandmother will no doubt try to scold me while Odin looks on disapprovingly, but her obsessive mother henning will give away her worry."

"And Uncle Thor?"

"Will be furious that I interrupted him in the middle of his tale, but he'll get over it. But enough about me, I would like to know just what happened this evening, and why you felt the need to call me to heal Draco. I was under the impression that you had a healer present in the school should a situation such as this arise."

"I don't think most of us are entirely certain what happened," Hermione said. "We were in the kitchens when a house elf told us Harry and Draco needed us immediately. When we got here we didn't have time to ask questions, we had to help Draco."

"I don't know much either," Harry explained. "I arrived just as Crabbe was cursing Draco, I don't know why he was cursing him or what had happened to lead up to it, and I didn't waste any time asking."

There was a second of a silence, then Ron spoke up. "Draco, mate, can you tell us what happened? Why did Crabbe and Goyle attack you?"

Draco gulped and shifted uncomfortably on the bed, he kept his eyes fixed on his hands even as he began to speak. "They're Death Eaters," he said softly. "I don't know if they've been marked yet, but they've definitely been to see the Dark Lord and received orders from him."

"How do you know?" Blaise asked.

"Because they told me. When I came up here to get my bag they were waiting for me, Crabbe made conversation with me while I was going through my trunk. It was just small talk, he asked me how I was doing, what I'd been up to lately. I had no reason to be suspicious until he mentioned that he'd been to Malfoy Manor over the summer, they'd arrived after mother and I fled, they said that our houseguest wasn't happy with our absence. By the time I realized who he was referring too, it was too late, he punched me in the side of the head and they started beating on me. I managed to get away but by then I'd suffered repeated blows to my head so I couldn't move properly and they got me back pretty easy. Goyle was pissed because in order to get away I'd kicked him between the legs." All of the males, Loki included winced at that piece of information. "He beat on me pretty bad and probably would have gone on until he killed me, but Crabbe reminded him that they couldn't kill me, they had a mission."

"Mission?" Blaise asked worriedly. "What mission."

"Like I said, the Dark Lord wasn't pleased that mother and I had escaped him, so he ordered Crabbe and Goyle to bring me back using whatever means necessary short of killing me. They cursed me a few times, made me vomit slugs, and kicked me around a bit, but I told them no. Then Crabbe put me under the depression curse."

"Oh, Merlin," Hermione whispered. "How are you still alive?"

"What's a depression curse?" Ron asked.

"It's a curse that puts a tremendous amount of pressure on its victim, if you're under long enough your bones will be ground to dust and your organs will be made into mush."

"I think the only reason it didn't get that bad for me was because Crabbe isn't that powerful magically speaking," Draco said. "Though I'm sure if Harry hadn't arrived when he did my spine would have been broken."

"Alright, we understand what happened and why," Neville said, "but why couldn't we take you to Pomfrey?"

"Because," Draco said, "if you had taken me to Pomfrey then she would have alerted the Headmaster and he would have punished Crabbe and Goyle."

"Isn't that what we want?"

"No, I want to be the one to punish them, I don't want Dumbledore fighting my battles for me. I don't mind them being expelled, but I want to make them suffer before they're granted that mercy."

Everyone fell silent as they turned to look at the two, bound, gagged, and unconscious figures thrown in the corner of the room, out of the way, just as Harry had ordered.

"So what are you going to do to them?" Neville asked.

"I'm going to use them to send a message to the Dar-to Voldemort. He sent those two after me because he thought that a few threats and a couple of broken bones would be all it took to bring me back to his side. But he needs to understand that my defection is not temporary, I've chosen my side in this war, and it's not with him, nor is it with Dumbledore, it's with you, Harry. He needs to understand that he can't just throw a few of his glorified thugs my way to knock me around a bit and I'll change my mind."

"Are you going to torture them?" Hermione whispered.

"I..." Draco hesitated. "I don't know, I don't think I have the stomach to torture someone. When Crabbe and Goyle were beating on me, hexing me, nearly killing me I saw the ease in which they did it, and I didn't want to become like them. But what choice do I have? We're in a war, I have to get my hands bloodied eventually...right?"

"There's plenty of ways to torture someone without physically hurting them," Harry said. "We could send Voldemort a message without ever laying a finger on Crabbe and Goyle, in fact it would probably be more effective if we didn't. It shows him that we're above the means of physical torture, we don't need to toss out crucios to make someone suffer. Right, Dad?"

Loki contemplated the idea for a moment, considering the merits and demerits of the idea. As the pros steadily outweighed the cons he smiled proudly at his son. "You are correct, Harry," he said. "There are ways just as effective, if not more, to torture someone. There's no reason to dirty your hands when you can do the same job just as easily using different methods. It's called being Slytherin, is it not?"

There was a round of appreciative laughter as the truth of the statement was realized.

Loki settled on Harry's bed and patted the space around him like a schoolteacher calling his rowdy class to order. "Gather around children, it's time I taught you the ins and outs of psychological warfare." The smile that spread across his face was frightening. "By the time we're done here, this dark lord of yours will not only realize that you are a force to be reckoned with, but that you are a force to be _feared_."


	16. Chapter Sixteen

_Psychological warfare is learning everything there is to know about your target, their beliefs, their likes, their dislikes, their strengths, their weaknesses, their vulnerabilities, and using this knowledge against them. You could destroy an entire army with what you are about to learn. As a matter of fact, I encourage you to do so."_

* * *

Harry, Ron, Blaise, and Neville grunted under the strain of moving Crabbe and Goyle into their respective beds. Night had fallen long before they were through with their impromptu lesson on the art of psychological warfare. Loki had remained behind for a bit longer afterward to help enact the first steps of their carefully devised plan, namely erasing Crabbe and Goyle's memories of attacking Draco and replacing them with events of their choice. When the teens woke they would remember being unable to launch their attack because Draco had been accompanied by both Harry and Blaise.

Loki had, at first, been reluctant to replace their memories, if Crabbe and Goyle didn't remember attacking Draco, it was more than likely they would try it again, because, as far as they knew, they hadn't tried it a first time. He had finally caved when Draco had promised to always remain in the company of at least one of his friends and, if they were unavailable, not wander off by himself.

When he had finished altering Crabbe and Goyle's memories, Loki reluctantly returned to Asgard and left Harry and co. to move Crabbe and Goyle to their beds.

"He could have levitated them before he left," Blaise panted, adjusting his grip on Crabbe's arms. "Would've made things a lot easier for us."

"Are you a wizard or not?" Hermione said, she and Draco were settled on his bed watching their friends struggle in amusement. "Levitate them yourselves."

Harry groaned and dropped Goyle's feet. "I wish you would have reminded us before," he muttered, drawing his wand.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you needed to be reminded that you have the ability to wield magic."

Two levitation spells later, Crabbe and Goyle were neatly tucked away in bed and the group of friends collapsed on top of each other on Draco's bed.

"So what now?" Harry asked, after dismantling the wards he'd put up on the door earlier. Luckily it seemed that the only sixth year male Slytherin not present, Theodore Nott, hadn't attempted to enter the room.

"Now, we sleep," Hermione said, wriggling around a bit to get more comfortable, her head was cushioned on Blaise's stomach and her thighs were being used as a pillow by Neville. "Tomorrow, we begin."

* * *

_To influence a person's emotions, their motives, reasoning, or behavior takes a great deal of subtlety and a certain amount of finesse. You've chosen psychological warfare as your main form of torture because, you don't want to maim or kill those stupid boys, even if you did, you're not experienced enough to pull it off and get away with it. Because of this your attacks have to stay deniable. Everything you do to your victims needs to be able to be explained away as something else._

* * *

Draco, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Blaise, and Harry watched inconspicuously from the Ravenclaw table as Crabbe and Goyle entered the Great Hall and sat down at their usual spots at the Slytherin table for lunch.

"Did you find everything you need?" Neville asked softly, using a small ham and tomato sandwich to cover his mouth.

"Yup," Harry nodded. "We'll slip into the dorm and cast the first of the series of spells when they go to class, we have a free period when they're in Care of Magical Creatures."

"While you're there try to get a few strands of their hair from their pillows," Hermione said. "The apparition spell, like polyjuice, requires something from the victim, that way it affects only them and not the entire school."

"Will do," Blaise nodded. "I'll get those personally."

"Do you have any idea what you want them to see?" Ron asked.

An evil smirk spread across Draco's face. "We know exactly what they're going to see."

"Is it that good?" Neville asked warily.

"It's brilliant."

* * *

"Vince. Psst, Vine. Wake up Vince. Wake up, wake up, wake uuuuup, Vince."

Vincent Crabbe woke up with a loud, piglike snort and looked around in confusion. What had woken him up? He could have sworn he had heard someone calling his-

"Finally, you're up! I've been trying to wake you for forever!"

Crabbe gaped at the little blond, silver haired boy who looked to be about seven years old, sitting at the foot of his bed. "Draco?"

"Who else would it be, silly?" little Draco snorted. "Now come on, get up, I have something to show you."

Crabbe didn't put up much fight when the little boy grabbed his arm and dragged him out of bed. He chattered happily about nothing in particular as he dragged Crabbe out of the dorm, through the common room, and into the corridor.

"Where are we going, Draco?"

"It's a surprise. Now hurry, we're almost there."

Crabbe grunted when Draco tugged urgently on his arm and picked up the pace. Why were they moving so fast?

"We're here! I can't wait for you to see it!" Draco released his arm and took off running, his little legs carried him the rest of the way down the corridor and around a corner.

"Hey, slow down!" Crabbe cried, hurrying after him, but when he turned the corner Draco was nowhere in sight.

"Malfoy? Where are you? Where did you go? Malfoy? Draco?"

"Vince?"

Crabbe froze at the soft, childlike whisper.

"Why did you do this to me? I thought we were friends."

He cried out in horror when seven year old Draco appeared several feet in front of him, the boy was bloody and bruised, his limbs were twisted at unnatural angles, and tears cut tracks down his face.

"I thought we were friends," the little boy wept. "Aren't we friends? Why did you do this to me? Why did you hurt me?"

Crabbe drew his wand and pointed it at the bloodied child. "What are you? Why are you here?"

"It's me," Draco said, sobs growing more violent by the second. "Draco. I'm your friend." He stood up on grotesquely aligned limbs and staggered toward Crabbe. "Don't you remember me?"

"Stay away from me! K-keep away!"

Bloody hands grabbed at his shirt and dragged him down until he was nose to nose with the seven year old, staring into empty silver eyes. "Are you asking me to stop?" he whispered. "_I _asked you to stop, I begged you, over and over and over. But. You. Didn't. So why should I?"

"I-I didn't do this to you. I didn't touch you."

"Yes, you did."

Tiny hand lunged forward and, with strength unbelievable for someone even five times his age, punched through his chest, clawing through skin and muscle until it reached his heart. And then he _squeezed_.

Crabbe screamed in agony and tried to tear himself away from Draco, but he had an iron grip on his throat, preventing him from moving anywhere but closer. Blood gushed from his chest, staining his and Draco's fronts red and creating a puddle around their feet; his vision began dimming around the edges, and his legs began shaking violently, until finally they gave out and he crumbled to the ground. Agony tore at his chest, he looked up at Draco and began sobbing violently when he saw his heart, a healthy pink and still beating steadily, clutched in Draco's hand. He tightened his grip on the heart, and a fresh round of agony clawed at Crabbe's chest, tearing a scream from his chest as he arched off of the ground crying hysterically.

Draco grinned, a frightening curling of his lips, as he knelt down in the mess of blood and other less savory bodily fluids and moved so that his mouth was level with Crabbe's ear.

"Wake up, Crabbe."

And he did.

* * *

Crabbe rolled out of bed the moment his alarm went off, setting the air around him buzzing, he had been awake for several hours already, woken by his fifth nightmare this week. He could never remember what it was about, only flashes of silver, a childlike voice, then unimaginable pain, but he could never fall back asleep afterwards, too afraid that if he succumbed to his exhaustion the nightmares would return. He hadn't had a full night's sleep in almost a week and, from the dark circles under his eyes and judging by his zombie-like demeanor, neither had Goyle, and it was starting to affect the both of them.

Staggering out of bed, he rummaged through his trunk and pulled out the first clean uniform he could find and went to the bathroom where, after taking an only somewhat invigorating shower, he shrugged into his clothing. He frowned when he saw himself in the mirror, had he gained weight? The shirt shouldn't be this form-fitting, and the waistband on his trousers was just a bit too tight. He sighed and shook his head, he didn't know any charms that could resize clothing so he would just have to bear the slight discomfort of wearing a slightly too small uniform and lay off the treacle.

* * *

Goyle cursed loudly and viciously when a bell rang overhead, signaling that anyone still in the corridors was late for class. He picked up the pace, almost running, if it had been any other class he wouldn't have even bothered, but it was Defense Against the Darks Arts he was late for, Snape didn't tolerate tardiness, not even from his Slytherins.

Just as he hopped off of the moving staircase and onto the floor the DADA class was on, he went sprawling to the ground, scattering the textbooks and paper he'd been holding all over the place.

"Dammit," he hissed, scrambling to collect his belongings and be on his way. "Of all the-" His hand stilled when he saw something scurry across his peripheral vision, but when he turned his head there was nothing there. Shaking his head and passing it off as a product of his extreme exhaustion he bent down and grabbed a handful of his parchments, not caring that he was crumpling what was most likely his Transfiguration homework. But then it happened again, there was a scurrying of little feet and childlike giggle.

"Who's there?" he called, drawing his wand. "Stop messing around and come out or I'll hex you."

"You wouldn't hex me, would you Greg? We're friends."

Goyle spun around at the softly spoken words, there was a little person, a child concealed halfway in the shadows. His eyes scanned briefly over shock of blond hair and a glimmer of silver eyes before they landed on the still beating heart, clutched in the tiny hand.

Forgetting all about his fallen homework and books, he turned tail and raced down the corridors.

* * *

Two weeks later, Crabbe and Goyle had barely slept ten hours between the two of them, and their lack of sleep had become obvious: They were pale and had lost a great deal of weight, their clothes were dirty and unkempt, but despite their weight loss were fitted so tightly it sometimes made it hard to breathe, there were dark purple bags under their eyes, and they were barely able to walk straight.

Younger Draco and his frightfully violent tendencies had made many more appearances in both their dreams and in hallucinations during the day, popping up at random intervals so that neither teen could track his appearances and prepare themselves accordingly.

By the end of the first week Crabbe and Goyle had been reduced to paranoid wrecks; they were convinced that they were constantly being watched by some invisible force, that they were being stalked by bloody specters and murderous little boys, and that someone was sabotaging their work, exploding their potions, spilling ink on their essays, even affecting the accuracy of their spells. By the end of the second week they had amassed no less than twelve detentions each for making scenes and frightening the younger students when they lashed out with both fists and magic, screaming at invisible people to leave them alone. They had been informed that if another such incident occurred, they would be suspended and sent to St. Mungo's for psychiatric evaluation.

"I almost feel sorry for them," Ron said, watching as their two victims shuffled into the Great Hall and collapsed at the table several seats down from them. "But then I remember what they did and all sympathy for them goes out the window."

"They look close to their breaking point, though," Blaise said. "Do you think it's time we wrapped this up?"

"Maybe," Neville said contemplatively, "if we don't they'll probably be shipped off to St. Mungo's, then all of our hard work will have been for nothing."

Harry surreptitiously drew his wand and pointed it first at Crabbe then Goyle, muttering a string of words under his breath each time he did. "It's done," he said, sheathing his wand. "The effects of the curse won't wear off for another half hour, but there will be no trace of it on them if someone were to check. Are you ready, Draco?"

"Of course. But you lot better be ready to move fast, I don't particularly feel like being hexed today."

"The moment they move for their wands we'll be on them," Neville promised.

"Well maybe not that soon, we want it to be believable after all."

"Thanks, Hermione," Draco drawled sarcastically.

"We won't let you get hexed," Harry reassured. "Now go on, let's get this over with already."

"Fine," Draco stood from his seat on the bench and, after pausing to smooth down his uniform, walked confidently down the table to Crabbe and Goyle. "Hey guys, do you mind if I steal those turkey legs? Weasley sucked all of ours down the black hole he refers to as a stomach."

The effect was instantaneous, the moment Crabbe and Goyle saw the head of blond hair and bright silver eyes, they were on their feet, wands drawn and pointed at Draco.

"You!" Crabbe screamed, trying to come off as threatening even as he cowered against the table. "Get away or I-I'll curse you."

"Whoa, calm down, mate," Draco held his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. "I just wanted your turkey legs, but if you still want them that's fine."

"You're the one who's been-been..."

"Been what?" Draco took a worried step forward, reaching out as if to steady the larger boy, only to leap back and duck out of the way when both Crabbe and Goyle shot curses at him.

The moment the spells were cast, Harry and his friends were behind Draco, wands trained on Crabbe and Goyle.

"I think you two need to calm down," Ron said, sounding oddly threatening.

"And you, you're a part of it!" Goyle cried. "All of you. Well I've had enough, I'll kill you all if I have to!"

A heavy silence followed the shout, the few people who hadn't already been watching the altercation turned in their seats to see what was going on.

Dumbledore stood from his seat at the head table, a cold look on his face and the customary twinkle in his eyes nowhere to be seen. "I will not tolerate such threats in my school, Mr. Goyle," he said. "Now, if you have a problem with one of your classmates you will inform one of the staff, you will not threaten their lives to settle it."

"They've done something to us," Goyle snarled, completely unrepentant. "Cursed us, put us under some sort of spell or something."

"And what sort of spell would this be?"

"It makes us see things."

"Perhaps we should take this to your office, Albus," McGonagall cut in. "Settle this matter in private."

"Excellent idea, Minerva," Dumbledore looked at the group of sixth years over the rim of his spectacles. "Come along then."

* * *

_The most important thing you can destroy is your target's credibility. Once credibility is gone, after the authorities begin ignoring them, their friends write them off as lunatics, you can get away with anything. They have no way to defend themselves because everyone believes them to be insane. _

_The easiest way to destroy credibility is through the mind. If you can trick your target into acting recklessly, into making unfounded accusations, they've done your dirty work for you._

* * *

"So you believe," Dumbledore said carefully, "that Mr. Malfoy and his friends cursed you?"

Crabbe nodded curtly. He and Goyle were seated stiffly in a set of conjured chairs on one side of Dumbledore's office while Draco and the others were on the other side, the two groups were separated by a human barrier made up of Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Flitwick.

"And this curse makes you see things?"

Another nod.

"Would you mind informing us as to what it is you see?"

"All sorts of things," Goyle said, his beady eyes were darting around the room, obviously searching for the hallucinations that had stalked him for the past fortnight. "Faces, horrible faces that whisper evil things, ghostly women, children."

"Children?" McGonagall repeated.

"Just the one, I can never see his face, but he's always covered in blood and crying that I'd done it to him, that we were supposed to be friends but that I was the one who had hurt him."

"And do you see the same, Mr. Crabbe?"

"More or less."

"What makes you think it was Mr. Malfoy and his friends who put you under this spell?" Flitwick asked.

"B-because..."

"Because what, Mr. Goyle?" Dumbledore asked, extraordinarily patiently.

"Because we see him too!"

"Do you?"

"Yes, he's the kid. The one we see all the time."

"Did you not just tell us, Mr. Goyle," Snape said sharply, "that you've never seen the face of this hallucination, but now you want us to believe that this boy is Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yeah," Goyle grunted. "But smaller, shorter."

"And because you, for some reason, see a _smaller, shorter_ Draco Malfoy, you have come up with the theory that he, Zabini, Potter, Weasley, Longbottom, and Granger put you under a spell that makes you see things? Have you ever entertained the thought that you are seeing this delusion, at no fault of your classmates, but because what little sanity you once possessed has fled?"

"We're not mad!" Crabbe shouted as he shot to his feet, his wild eyes, disheveled appearance, and pale, dirty face said otherwise. "And it's not a theory! The blood traitors and mudbloods did this to us."

"You will not speak such despicable language in my presence, Mr. Crabbe," McGonagall cut in. "Fifty points from Slytherin. Now if you want to see this problem resolved, I advise you to sit down and be quiet until spoken to. Am I clear?"

Crabbe glared hatefully at her before throwing himself down in his seat. "Crystal."

"Good."

"Thank you, Minerva," Dumbledore nodded. "Now boys, there is a simple way to tell if you truly have been cursed. With your permission of course, Professor Flitwick will cast a charm on you both that will show if you are under the effects of any spell or potion. Will you allow us to cast this charm?"

Both teens nodded, eager to prove that they weren't insane.

Flitwick dropped from his seat and drew his wand. "If you are under any sort of enchantment a red aura will momentarily enshroud you and the name of any spell or potion either of you may be under will write itself out on this parchment." He produced a sheet of parchment from his pocket and held it up to show that it was completely blank. "If you are unaffected by either spell or potion the aura will be blue. Are you both prepared?"

He received twin nods.

"Very well. _Augurium revelare._" There was a moment of anxious waiting as the spell searched the two teens' systems, slowly an aura settled around them. They were blue.

"You are clean of any spells or potions," Flitwick said, the diminutive charms professor wasn't sure if he should be pleased that the six students sitting silently and calmly on one side of him had nothing to do with this fiasco, or dismayed that the two boy sitting on his other side may not be completely sane.

"Then the stupid spell must not have worked," Goyle snarled. "We're not mad, I know those six have _something _to do with this."

"Are there any reason you may be aware of that would explain why you are seeing these hallucinations, the one of who you believe to be Mr. Malfoy especially? Have you been under any stress that Mr. Malfoy may have been the cause of?"

Crabbe and Goyle hesitated, exchanging unsure glances. "No," Goyle finally said.

"Liars."

No one noticed the stiffening of their shoulders or the clenching of their fists when the younger, bloodier version of Draco appeared right beside his older counterpart, still partially hidden in the shadows.

"Is there anything you two may have gotten into that would cause the delusions?"

"They are not delusions!"

"Oh yes, because snarling like a rabid animal will convince them that you're not mad," little Draco giggled.

"Mr. Goyle, answer the question."

"Why? You'll only twist my words and make me look crazy!"

"I think you're doing a fairly decent job of that yourself, Mr. Goyle," Snape sneered. "Now, answer the question."

"No," he snapped. "There's nothing we could have _gotten into_ that would cause this."

"Of course there is," little Draco said. "You were the fools who pledged yourselves to the Dark Lord and agreed to do whatever it took to convert me back to your side."

Crabbe sucked in a startled breath and Goyle paled.

"What is it, boys?" Flitwick asked worriedly.

"N-nothing."

"I'm hurt that you could blow me off so easily," little Draco purred. "Why don't you just tell them the truth? That your hallucinations of me are because of the stress you're suffering because you have yet to fulfill your mission?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Are you seeing things now?"

"No," Crabbe had hesitated for barely half of a second, but that was all it took to tell Snape exactly what he wanted to know.

"Do not lie to me, boy. Headmaster, they need to be removed from Hogwarts and transferred to St. Mungo's immediately. As long as these delusions continue they will be a danger to everyone in this school."

"Think of how angry the Dark Lord will be when he finds out that you've been removed from Hogwarts before you were able to complete your task," little Draco whispered.

"I'm afraid I must agree, Albus," McGonagall said. "They have had outbursts this past week that have put several students in danger."

Crabbe and Goyle were once again on their feet, both of their faces were turning a dangerous shade of red. "We. Are. Not. Mad!"

"Ooh, say it again, just like that, that'll be sure to persuade them."

"If neither of you can give me a reason for your erratic and dangerous behavior, I will have no choice but to alert St. Mungo's."

"Tell them," little Draco whispered.

"I...we-we..."

"Tell them!" the ghostly figure shot from the shadows and, for the first time ever, Crabbe and Goyle saw his face. It was Draco, just as they had suspected, though he was almost a decade younger than he was now. But the boy's once cherubic face was a horrifying sight now, there was a deep gash running across his face from his chin to his temple, cutting through his left eye and revealing the white bone beneath, blood was streaming from his mouth, ears, and nose, painting his pale skin a frightening red, his mouth was open in a horrendous snarl that had both Crabbe and Goyle cowering against the wall.

"W-we had a mission!" Crabbe blurted. "Given to us from the Dark Lord, he-he wanted us to convert Draco back to our side, he gave us permission to use whatever means necessary as-as long as w-we didn't kill him."

"Fantastic job, boys," little Draco grinned, a sight made horrifying by the blood staining his teeth. "I'll be taking my leave now. Goodbye."

And just like that, he was gone.

"Did you succeed?"

"Excuse me?" Draco said dangerously. "I hope you're not insinuating what I think you are, Headmaster."

"Just a precaution, my boy," Dumbledore placated before looking back at Crabbe and Goyle expectantly.

"We never got the chance to try," Goyle whispered, looking around warily, waiting for little Draco to reappear. "He was always with someone, we couldn't attack until he was alone."

Dumbledore sighed and nodded. "Thank you for your honesty, boys," he said. "But I'm afraid I must inform the Ministry of this situation."

"B-but they'll arrest us," Crabbe stammered. "We'll be sent to Azkaban."

"I cannot guarantee that you won't, but if you are cooperative your sentence may be lessened. Will you agree to come quietly?"

Crabbe and Goyle hesitated, but slowly they nodded their heads. It seemed that the threat of Azkaban was far less frightening than the thought of returning to their master without having completed their task.

"Very good, Professor Flitwick, if you would be so kind as to escort Mr. Malfoy and his friends back to the Great Hall while I alert the proper authorities, I'm sure they would like to complete their interrupted meals."

"Of course, Headmaster," Flitwick said. "Come along, children."

The last thing Harry and his friends saw before exiting the Headmaster's office was Dumbledore ducking into the fireplace while McGonagall and Snape bound Crabbe and Goyle to their seats.

Draco turned to Harry grinning a large, shark-like grin, and whispered too low for Flitwick to hear. "Remind me to thank your father the next time I see him."

Harry laughed softly and returned the grin. "Will do."

* * *

"Well," Dumbledore sighed when, several days later, Harry arrived in his office for their next lesson. "This has certainly been an eventful week."

Harry couldn't help but smile. When the headmaster wasn't being evasive, manipulative, and far too nosy for his own good Harry actually found himself liking the man. "That it has been."

"Would you please pass on my apologies to Mr. Malfoy, it wasn't my intention to offend him, but I had to be certain."

"There's no need for apologies, Headmaster. Once Draco got over his initial affront, he understood the necessity behind asking the question."

Dumbledore smiled. "I'm glad that he understood and took no offense. Now, on a different matter, have you managed to retrieve the untampered memory from Professor Slughorn?,"

"Not yet," Harry sighed. "I have a plan, but it's difficult to get him alone so that I can carry it through."

Dumbledore nodded. "Professor Slughorn is a very hard man to pin down, perhaps if you took the time to attend one of his Slug Club meetings you would have an easier time of it," the teasing glint in his eyes betrayed his serious tone.

Harry groaned. "I'm way too busy to spend my evenings rubbing elbows. I'll manage to get the memory without subjecting myself to such torture."

"Of that I have no doubt. Now, to continue one with our story where we left off. You remember where that was?"

Harry nodded. "Voldemort killed his father and his grandparents and made it look as though his Uncle Morfin did it. Then he went back to Hogwarts and he asked Professor Slughorn about Horcruxes."

"Very good. Now, you will remember, I hope, that I told you at the very outset of these meetings of ours that we would be entering the realms of guesswork and speculation?"

Harry nodded again.

"Thus far, as I hope you agree, I have shown you reasonably firm sources of fact for my deductions as to what Voldemort did until the age of seventeen. But now, Harry, now things become murkier and stranger. If it was difficult to find evidence about the boy Riddle, it has been almost impossible to find anyone prepared to reminisce about the man Voldemort. In fact, I doubt whether there is a soul alive, apart from himself, who could give us a full account of his life since he left Hogwarts. However, I have two last memories that I would like to share with you." Dumbledore indicated the two little crystal bottles gleaming beside the Pensieve. "I shall then be glad of your opinion as to whether the conclusions I have drawn from them seem likely."

"Alright, then I suppose we best get on with it then," Harry said.

Dumbledore smiled. "That we shall."

After graduating from Hogwarts, with top grades of course, Riddle applied for the conveniently open Defense Against the Dark Arts position. Harry learned he had numerous reasons for applying for the position, but the main one was that as a teacher Riddle would have had great power and influence over young witches and wizards. Hogwarts was a useful recruiting ground, a place where he could have begun to build himself an army. But Dippet denied him, told him that, while he would be a great asset to the Hogwarts staff, he was too young, too inexperienced, and so he went with his second choice, acquiring a job at the notoriously dark shop, Borgin and Burkes.

Many who knew Riddle lamented it as a waste of talent, but he was no mere shop assistant. The owners of the shop recognized Riddle's potential and sent him out on tasks that put his wit and good looks to use. He was tasked with convincing people to sell treasured artifacts they wouldn't usually part with, and he was exceptionally good at it.

The first memory was from a house elf named Hokey who had witnessed her mistress, a large woman, with a heavily made up face, showcase two of her most prized possessions, a small golden cup with two handles and a badger carefully engraved on its face and heavy, golden locket inscribed with a delicate, curling S Riddle. She was dead two days later and her little house elf was taken to Azkaban for unknowingly putting a lethal, little-known poison, into her mistresses tea. A startling parallel to the muggle Riddles' deaths.

It was only weeks after her death that Hepzibah's family members realized that the cup and locket were missing, and by then Tom Riddle had resigned from his position at Borgin and Burke's and disappeared. That was the last anyone had seen or heard from him in a very long time.

The next memory was ten years after the first. Headmaster Dippet had stepped down from his position as headmaster and passed it on to Dumbledore. Riddle returned to Hogwarts not long after Dumbledore's promotion, once again hoping to acquire the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, but was, once again, turned down. But it seemed the interview with Dumbledore was not the only reason Riddle had returned to Hogwarts, both Dumbledore and Harry suspected that the man had made a stop along the way, to hide something. The only question was, what?

* * *

"Professor Slughorn?" Harry watched in amusement as the portly man started in surprise and spun around surprisingly quickly for one with such a wide girth. The last class of the day had ended almost an hour ago so it was a relief to see him still puttering around the potions classroom, gathering essays from his desk and erasing that day's lesson from the board.

"Harry m'boy, you gave me quite a fright," Slughorn said, placing a hand on his chest. "What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if I could speak with you in private, sir. It's very important."

"Of course, come we'll speak in my office," Harry followed Slughorn into his office and settled down in the chair in front of his desk.

"What can I do for you m'boy?" Slughorn asked after easing himself into his seat.

"Well, it's something you may not be comfortable speaking about," Harry said "but if you would it would be tremendous help."

"I'm sure I'd be willing to do whatever I can," Slughorn assured, still unaware of the trap he was walking directly into.

"It's about Horcruxes, sir."

Slughorn froze. His round face seemed to sink in upon itself. He licked his lips and said hoarsely, "What did you say?"

"I wanted to know if you knew anything about Horcruxes, I-"

"Dumbledore put you up to this, didn't he?"

"Pardon me?"

"Dumbledore's shown you that-that memory? Hasn't he?"

Harry contemplated whether or not he should tell the truth, finally he decided that the truth would probably be his best bet and so settled for a simple, "Yes."

"Yes, of course," said Slughorn quietly, dabbing at his white face. "Of course… well, if you've seen that memory, Harry, you'll know that I don't know anything, _anything_," he repeated the word forcefully, "about Horcruxes."

"But you do, Professor, you're just too ashamed to tell me what you know, to tell me what you told Tom Riddle."

"You-you already saw what I told-"

"Professor," Harry cut in, "I saw the memory, I saw how you tampered with it, to hide what you did that night."

Slughorn's shoulders sagged and Harry felt a surge of triumph, he was finally giving up denying it, he was one step closer to getting the memory. "The things I revealed that night...I am not proud...I am ashamed of what-of what that memory shows. I do not wish to burden you with that knowledge."

Harry smiled bitterly. "I have been burdened with far worse things," he said. "Whether it's true or not, the wizarding world believes that I am the chosen one, that I am the only one who can defeat Voldemort. And what's worse, _Voldemort _believes it, so he'll keep coming at me with everything he has, he'll keep trying to kill me until he has succeeded. The way I see it, I have only two choices, I can kill him or I can die trying."

Slughorn gaped at Harry.

"But in order to do it I need that memory."

"I-I think I may have done great damage that day." Slughorn whispered. "I made a grave mistake."

"Haven't we all? But you can come back from it, just give me the memory."

Slughorn and Harry stared at each other over the stacks of ungraded essays and empty potion vials. There was a long, long silence, but Harry knew not to break it.

Then, very slowly, Slughorn put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his wand. He put his other hand inside his cloak and took out a small, empty bottle. Still looking into Harry's eyes, Slughorn touched the tip of his wand to his temple and withdrew it, so that a long, silver thread of memory came away too, clinging to the wand tip. Longer and longer the memory stretched until it broke and swung, silvery bright, from the wand. Slughorn lowered it into the bottle where it coiled, then spread, swirling like gas. He corked the bottle with a trembling hand and then passed it across the table to Harry.

"Thank you very much, Professor."

"You're a good boy," Professor Slughorn whispered. "Just don't think too badly of me once you've seen it."

Harry smiled reassuringly at the downcast man. "Never."

* * *

"Good evening, Harry, to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence in front of my office this fine evening?"

Harry groaned in relief and climbed from his uncomfortable perch on the pedestal of the gargoyle in front of Dumbledore's office. He had left Slughorn almost half an hour ago and headed straight for the headmaster's office, but because it was nearing the middle of dinner, and he had no clue what the password was, he was forced to wait outside until Dumbledore arrived.

"I got the memory," Harry said, stretching his stiff spine before pulling the vial of silvery memories from his pocket. "I got Slughorn's memory."

A wide smile spread across Dumbledore's face. "Fantastic job, Harry, I knew you could do it."

The headmaster told the gargoyle the password and the pair hurried up the stairs, into the office, and to the pensieve.

"And now," said Dumbledore, placing the stone basin upon the desk and emptying the contents of the bottle into it. "Now, at last, we shall see."

The first moments of the memory were exactly the same as before, there was small talk about retiring and crystallized pineapples, there were threats of detentions for all of those who didn't turn in their latest essays, then slowly, one by one, the members of the Slug Club filed out of the room until only Slughorn and Riddle remained. But this time, when Riddle asked about the Horcruxes, Slughorn didn't turn him away, he hesitated, asked a few nervous questions of his own, and, once he was satisfied with Riddle's response, answered.

The truth was horrifying.

* * *

"He tore his soul apart?" Hermione gasped. She, Harry, Neville, Draco, Blaise, and Ron were huddled in a corner of the Gryffindor common room warded for privacy. Usually they would have convened in the Ravenclaw common room, but it was packed full with frantic Ravens studying for the approaching exams.

"Into seven pieces," Harry confirmed.

"And until all seven of these...Horcruxes are destroyed," Neville said slowly, "he's immortal."

"That's why he didn't die when I was a baby. His Horcruxes kept him alive until he got a new body."

"So the only way he can be killed is if all seven are found and destroyed?" Blaise asked. "Do you know where any are? Or even _what _they are?

"We don't know where they are," Harry admitted, "but we do know what six out of the seven are, and, what's more, we've destroyed two of them."

"You have?" Ron said hopefully. "When? What were they? What did they look like? What are the others?"

"Slow down Ron, you sound like Hermione," Harry laughed. "The memories have taught us that Voldemort was obsessed with two things, his lineage and the founders. When creating his Horcruxes he'd want to use something that related to those, that's how we managed to figure it out. The five Horcruxes we were able to identify were a diary that belonged to Tom Riddle during his years at Hogwarts, a ring that was passed down Voldemort's family from Slytherin himself, a locket that also belonged to Slytherin, Helga Hufflepuff's own cup, the fifth Horcrux is his familiar, the snake Nagini, and a final piece resides inside of Voldemort's body. We believe that the sixth Horcrux was something of Ravenclaw's, though we can't be certain."

"One of the Horcruxes you destroyed was Riddle's diary?" Ron repeated faintly. "The very same diary that possessed Ginny in our second year?"

Harry nodded.

Ron looked sick. "And what was the second Horcrux you destroyed?"

"Dumbledore got that one over the summer," Harry said. "The Peverell family ring. It was the ring that put the curse on Dumbledore's hand."

"You mean the curse that's..."

"Killing him? Yes."

A solemn silence fell over the group, Harry had told them about what he had learned about the headmaster's cursed hand and what it was doing to him the moment he had found out at the beginning of the school year. But now that the end was coming closer it suddenly seemed so much more real.

"How much longer do you think he has?" Hermione asked.

"It's been getting worse lately," Harry said. "He's got about a month left, two if he's careful."

"And then he'll be dead," Draco muttered.

"And then he'll be dead," Harry agreed.

"Do you think we'll be able to finish things, to kill Voldemort before that happens?" Neville asked.

Harry shook his head. "We're nowhere close to finding the Horcruxes. Chances are, Dumbledore will die, leaving us with the task of, not only destroying the Horcruxes, but killing the bastard that created them and any of his followers that get in our way."

"Fun," Blaise grumbled.

* * *

The month following the retrieval of the memory and the revelation of the existence of Voldemort's Horcruxes was harrowing for Harry and his friends, between the unhealthy amount of homework they'd been saddled with and studying for end of terms, they had very little time for themselves, and what little free time they managed to procure was spent searching in the library for clues on what the final Horcrux was and where all of them could be found. The results were underwhelming.

"I don't think I can take another minute of this," Ron groaned, snapping his book shut. "We've been at this all day and none of us have found anything worth mentioning, not even in the restricted section."

"We just have to be patient," Hermione said, blowing a chunk of hair out of her face as she reached for yet another book. "We'll find something eventually."

"I think we should call it a night," Blaise said. "Curfew's in half an hour, the library will be closing soon."

"But we haven't-"

"Hey, Harry?"

Harry looked up at the sound of his name and smiled when he saw third year Gryffindor, and one of the members of the T.A. Jimmy Peakes approaching their library table.

"I've got a message for you, from Dumbledore," the third year said, handing over a scroll of parchment.

"Thanks, Jimmy," Harry said. Once the boy was gone, he unrolled the parchment and quickly read it over. "He wants me in in his office right away."

"What do you think he wants from you so late in the night?" Ron asked before paling. "You don't think...?"

Harry shrugged. "There's only one way to find out."

"We'll wait for you in your dorms," Hermione said.

Harry nodded. "See you," he threw his bag over his shoulder and practically raced to Dumbledore's office, stopping briefly he gave the password to the gargoyle, then hurried up the stairs, and entered the room the moment his knock was greeted with the usual, "Enter."

Fawkes was sitting alert on his perch, his bright black eyes gleaming with reflected gold from the sunset beyond the window, while Dumbledore was standing at the window looking out at the grounds, a long, black travelling cloak in his arms.

"Professor?"

"Ah Harry, you've arrived," Dumbledore turned from the window to beam at Harry.

The teen took in the headmaster's bright smile, but also the slight tensing of his shoulders and the way his good hand gripped his cloak just a bit tighter than normal. "You found a Horcrux."

Dumbledore nodded. "And I do believe that I promised you that I would take you the next time I went to destroy one."

"You did," Harry agreed. "Shall I get my cloak?"

"That would be a good idea, it's a bit nippy out tonight. I will meet you in the Entrance Hall in five minutes time."

Harry nodded then turned and walked out of the room. An eerie calm settled over him as he marched down the corridors, into the dungeons, through the common room, and up to the dorms. The moment he entered the room, Hermione, Blaise, Neville, Ron, and Draco leapt from their seats on Draco's bed, looking to him expectantly.

"Did he..?"

Harry nodded.

"Are you...?"

Another nod. "I'm getting my cloak and meeting him in the Entrance Hall."

Hermione dashed forward and pulled him into a rib-cracking hug. "Good luck and be careful."

"Yeah, life would be boring without you around to cause some sort of trouble," Draco said, tossing him his cloak.

"It's going to take more than some itty bitty Horcrux to get me out of the game. I'll be back in no time."

"We'll wait up for you."

* * *

Dumbledore apparated them to a high outcrop of dark rock, situated in the center of a violently churning sea. Their final destination, however, was a short swim through the icy cold water, towards a dark slit in the face of a sheer black cliff. The fissure opened into a dark tunnel that led to a large, open cave.

"This is the place," Dumbledore said as he and Harry climbed out of the water.

"How can you tell?" Harry asked as he cast a drying over himself.

"It has known magic."

Harry took a moment to feel for the magic swirling around the room, but other than the slightly dark edge to it, he didn't feel anything particularly telling.

Dumbledore spent several minutes searching the small antechamber for a way to enter the main part of the cave. It took several circuits around the room and a blood sacrifice before a silver archway appeared in the solid stone wall, reminiscent of the entrance to Diagon Alley.

Dumbledore and Harry ducked through the archway and were met with an eerie sight. They were standing on the edge of a great black lake, so vast that Harry could not make out the distant banks, a misty greenish light shone far away in what looked like the middle of the lake. The greenish glow and the light from their two wands were the only things that broke the otherwise velvety blackness, though their rays did not penetrate as far as Harry would have expected. The darkness was somehow denser than normal darkness.

"Let us walk," Dumbledore said quietly. "Be very careful not to step into the water. Stay close to me."

He set off around the edge of the lake, and Harry followed close behind him. Their footsteps made echoing, slapping sounds on the narrow rim of rock that surrounded the water. On and on they walked, but the view did not vary: on one side of them, the rough cavern wall, on the other, the boundless expanse of smooth, glassy blackness, in the very middle of which was that mysterious greenish glow. Harry found the place and the silence oppressive, unnerving.

"Aha," Dumbledore murmured triumphantly, stopping suddenly at the edge of the rim, Harry only just kept himself from crashing into him and toppling into the lake.

"What have you found, Professor?"

Dumbledore grinned at him over his shoulder then reached out and wrapped his hand around something Harry couldn't see. He took a step closer to the water as he raised his wand with the other and tapped his fist with the point. Immediately a thick coppery green chain appeared out of thin air, extending from the depths of the water into Dumbledore's clenched hand. Dumbledore tapped the chain, which began to slide through his fist like a snake, coiling itself on the ground with a clinking sound that echoed noisily off the rocky walls, pulling something from the depths of the black water.

Harry watched in amazement as the ghostly prow of a tiny boat broke the surface, glowing as green as the chain, and floated, with barely a ripple, toward the place on the bank where Harry and Dumbledore stood.

"Do you think this thing is safe?" Harry asked, studying the boat skeptically.

"Oh yes, I think so. Voldemort needed to create a means to cross the lake without attracting the wrath of whatever creatures lurk within the water it in case he ever wanted to visit or remove his Horcrux."

"It doesn't look like it was built for two people. Will it hold both of us? Will we be too heavy together?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Voldemort will not have cared about the weight, but about the amount of magical power that crossed his lake. I rather think an enchantment will have been placed upon this boat so that only one wizard at a time will be able to sail in it.

"I do not think you will count, Harry. Voldemort has underestimated you in believing that because you are underage you are unqualified, and that is his greatest mistake. Age is foolish and forgetful when it underestimates youth. Now, you first, and be careful not to touch the water."

Once Harry and Dumbledore had crammed themselves into the uncomfortably small boat, they were off, sailing smoothly across the murky green water, leaving barely a ripple in their wake.

They were halfway to their destination, a quarter of the way across the lake, when the light from Harry's wand briefly illuminated what he could have sworn was a human hand. It was only when the golden light slid across an entire human form corpse pale and floating only inches below the surfaces that he realized that the entire lake was full of bodies. Now the thought of sailing over a sea of human bodies didn't aggravate his nerves _too_ much, it was the thought of what they were there _for _that set his nerves on edge. Usually in a creepy cave set up with all sorts of nasty enchantments and protections by the Dark Lord himself everything had a purpose, especially the creepy bodies lurking just beneath the deceptively smooth surface of the water. There was only one thing he could think they'd be, and that one thought, no matter how horrifying, seemed to be the most plausible.

"There are Inferi in the lake," he told Dumbledore, voice surprisingly steady.

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed, equally calm. "They seem agreeable enough for the time being, but I am sure that once we take the Horcrux, we shall find them to be less peaceable. However, like many creatures that dwell in cold and darkness, they fear light and warmth, which we shall therefore call to our aid should the need arise."

"Fire, of course," Harry said somewhat resignedly, because of his strong affinity to the cold, fire was always the hardest element for him to summon. It wasn't impossible for him to summon it, he'd done it on more than one occasion both with and without a wand. But he found the task always required a larger amount of concentration and he could never sustain a flame for long.

"Nearly there," Dumbledore said cheerfully, oblivious to Harry's glum thoughts.

After only a few more minutes of sailing across the Inferius infested water, the boat came to a halt, bumping gently into the shores of a small island of smooth rock set directly in the center of the lake.

"Careful not to touch the water," Dumbledore warned again as Harry climbed out of the boat.

The island was no larger than Dumbledore's office, an expanse of flat dark stone on which stood nothing but the source of the greenish light he'd seen all the way from the edge of the lake. Harry squinted at it, at first he thought it was a lamp of some kind, but then he saw that the light was coming from a stone basin rather like the Pensieve, which was set on top of a pedestal. Dumbledore approached the basin and Harry followed. Side by side, they looked down into it. The basin was full of an emerald liquid emitting that phosphorescent glow.

"What is it?" Harry asked, quizzically studying the liquid.

"I am not sure. Something more worrisome than blood and bodies, however."

Well, that was reassuring.

After both of the wizards realized that an invisible barrier was hovering over the potion, preventing anyone or anything from touching it, Dumbledore drew his wand and began casting spells at it. Several minutes were spent with him making complex movements over the surface of the potion, murmuring soundlessly. Nothing happened, except perhaps that the potion glowed a little brighter.

Finally it was decided that the potion could not be vanished, parted, scooped up, or siphoned away, nor could it be transfigured, charmed, or otherwise made to change its nature.

"I believe that the only way we will be able to, please excuse the pun, get to the bottom of this, is for the potion to be drunk."

"Drunk?" Harry asked, staring at the potion trepidatiously. "It could be incredibly lethal."

"It could," Dumbledore agreed. "But then again Lord Voldemort would not want to kill the person who reached this island. He would want to keep them alive long enough to find out how they managed to penetrate so far through his defenses and, most importantly of all, why they were so intent upon emptying the basin."

"So the potion is most likely meant to prevent either of us from taking Horcrux. It may paralyze us, cause us to forget what we am here for, create so much pain we're distracted, or render us incapable in some other way," Harry listed.

"Exactly," Dumbledore nodded. "Which is why I must drink it."

"You? Why you? With all due respect sir, just in case something goes wrong, I'm a bit harder to kill than you are."

"And that is exactly why I must be the one to drink it," Dumbledore said. "You are far more valuable than me. Besides if something _were _to happen and I, Godric forbid, didn't survive this newest adventure, my passing would not be that great of a loss, I am after all living on borrowed time." He held up his withered black hand as if to prove his point. "So _I _will be the one to drink it, it will be your job to make sure I keep drinking, even if you have to tip the potion into my protesting mouth. You understand?"

Harry hesitated. "I...I-yes, I do."

"Very good," Dumbledore twirled his wand and conjured a crystal goblet. He hesitated for a moment before lowering the goblet into the potion. The crystal sank into the surface as nothing else had and filled to the brim with the emerald potion.

"To your good health, Harry," Dumbledore murmured, tipping the goblet in his direction. Then he gulped the potion down.

Harry watched warily as Dumbledore slowly lowered the empty glass. "How do you feel?" he asked.

Dumbledore shook his head and his eyes closed, but he plunged the glass blindly back into the basin, refilled it, and drank once more. He drank three more goblets of the potion but halfway through the fourth goblet, he staggered and fell forward against the basin. His eyes were still closed, his breathing heavy.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry cried, grabbing onto the man's shoulders to steady him. "Can you hear me?"

Dumbledore didn't answer. His face was twitching as though he was deeply asleep, but dreaming a horrible dream. His grip on the goblet was slackening, the potion was about to spill from it. Harry reached forward and grasped the crystal cup, holding it steady.

"Professor, can you hear me?" he repeated loudly. "You've have to keep drinking."

"No, no, no, no, I can't, I can't, don't make me, I don't want to…"

"I know, but this is the only way...You have to," Harry said, bringing the goblet back up to Dumbledore's mouth and pouring the rest of the potion down his throat.

Forcing Dumbledore to drink the potion was perhaps one of the worst experiences of Harry's life, the usual strong, cheerful man was begging for Harry to stop, pleading to just let him die. Even as he screamed and he cried and begged Harry continued to force the potion down his throat until finally, _finally_, there was nothing left for him to drink.

The moment the last of the potion was swallowed, Harry carelessly tossed aside the goblet and drew his wand to rennervate Dumbledore, who was drifting in and out of consciousness.

"Professor, how are-"

"Water," Dumbledore croaked.

"Water, of course," Harry summoned the discarded the goblet and filled it with fresh, cool water with a muttered, "_Aguamenti_."

But the moment he cut off the spell the water disappeared from the goblet.

"What the-_Aguamenti_!" the water disappeared again and again, each time Harry refilled the glass it emptied itself just as quickly.

"Water, Harry," Dumbledore pleaded.

"I know, I-I'm coming. It won't..." Harry dashed away from Dumbledore and reluctantly approached the edge of the island, he took a moment to steel himself before plunging the goblet into the water. To his relief the cup remained full, but when he pulled away from the water more than just his trembling hands and the goblet came up, a slimy, milky white hand was wrapped around his wrist, trying to drag him back into the water. He tore himself away from the slimy grasp and staggered to the headmaster's side, but even as he gently fed Dumbledore the water, the mirror smooth surface of the lake was churning and everywhere Harry looked, white heads and hands were emerging from the dark water. Men and women and children with sunken, sightless eyes were moving toward the rock, an army of the dead rising from the black water.

"Oh, this is just fantastic!" Harry groaned. He pulled Dumbledore to his feet and struggled to get them both to the boat while supporting most of the headmaster's weight and keeping a lookout for the steadily approaching Inferi.

An Incendio had the Inferi crowding around the boat retreating into the water with inhuman screeches; just before jumping into the boat Harry ran back to retrieve the locket and then they were off.

Harry kept an unbroken ring of fire around the boat as they sailed across the water, he could see the Inferi swarming around and beneath the boat, but none dared to surface.

They reached the bank with a little bump, Harry leapt out of the boat then turned quickly to help Dumbledore, he let the fire die out but none of the Inferi resurfaced. The little boat sank into the water once more, clanking and tinkling, its chain slithered back into the lake too.

Harry hurried them to the exit, the archway had closed but Harry cast a quick cutting curse at his hand, smeared the blood against the stone, and kept going. They crossed the outer cave, and Harry helped Dumbledore back into the icy seawater that filled the crevice in the cliff.

"It's going to be all right, sir," Harry said over and over again, more worried by Dumbledore's silence than he had been by his weakened voice. "We're nearly there, I can Apparate us both back. Don't worry…"

"I am not worried, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice a little stronger despite the freezing water. "I am with you."

* * *

"Help! We need help!" Harry burst into the hospital wing, a semi-conscious Dumbledore leaning heavily on his shoulder.

Madam Pomfrey ran out of her office and gasped when she saw the pale, sickly headmaster. "What happened?"

"He drank a potion," Harry grunted as he dragged Dumbledore to the closest beds and lowered him on top of the sheets. "It was emerald green, smelled like brimstone, and made him see things, bad things."

"Drink of Despair," Madam Pomfrey muttered. "Where did he get access to such a potion? And _why_ did he drink so much? In order for it to have become so potent he had to have taken at least a dozen doses."

Harry shook his head as he sat down on the bed beside Dumbledore's. He was exhausted, after leaving the cave he had apparated himself and Dumbledore directly to the gates, just outside of the wards, he had then half-dragged, half-carried Dumbledore all the way up to the castle and to the hospital wing.

"We were on a mission. I don't know if he wants me to tell you about it though," he muttered. "Ask him after you heal him."

"I don't know if I can."

"What? He said it would only incapacitate him, not kill him."

"Yes, and in any other case that would be true. But he took twice the healthy dosage, not that _any _dosage of this position is healthy, it's weakened him, made him susceptible to the curse that's been feeding off of his flesh all year."

"Does that mean...?"

Madam Pomfrey nodded, tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over onto her pale cheeks. "He'll be dead by morning."

Harry let out a soft, shaky breath. "There's-there's nothing you can do for him?"

Pomfrey shook her head. "There's nothing, no spells, no potions that can stop this."

"Maybe Snape could..."

"He did everything he could when Dumbledore came to us after he first acquired the injury. The potions were only meant to hold the curse off for a while longer, long enough for us to find a cure, but..."

"You never did," Harry whispered.

Pomfrey shook her head. "There's-there's nothing I can do but make him comfortable for these last few hours."

"Poppy?"

Immediately, Pomfrey was at Dumbledore's side, fluttering nervously around him as she reprimanded him for wasting his energy trying to sit up in bed.

Dumbledore ignored her mother henning and turned to look at Harry. "Are you all right, Harry? Were you hurt?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm fine. I managed to escape unscathed for the most part, you, however, did not."

"I feared as much," Dumbledore smiled sadly. "What is the verdict? How much longer will the curse allow me?"

"A few hours at most," Pomfrey whispered. "The potion...it took a toll on your health. The curse overpowered the potions and spells you've been on." The healer glared furiously down at the headmaster. "What possessed you to willingly take that potion, Albus? And so much of it?"

"It was vital that I did."

"Vital to what?" Pomfrey shouted. "Certainly not your health!"

"Vital to defeating Voldemort once and for all."

"What-"

"I'm sorry, Poppy," Dumbledore interrupted, "but do you think you could give Harry and me a moment of privacy? There is something I must discuss with him."

Pomfrey looked as if she was about to protest, but a beseeching look from Dumbledore stopped her in her tracks, she nodded once then turned and marched into her office.

Dumbledore shifted a bit in the bed, weakly pulling himself into a sitting position before gesturing to the chair beside his bed. "Please sit, Harry, we have much to discuss."

Harry quickly did as requested.

"I had hoped to have this conversation with you perhaps a bit later, but time is making fools of us yet again. Before we left, did you get the Horcrux?"

Harry nodded. "I did, it's right here in my pocket." He went to grab it, but a gentle hand on his arm stopped him.

"After I pass on, I need you to destroy it."

"You want _me _to do it?" Harry asked incredulously. "But how? How do you destroy someone's soul?"

"In order to destroy a Horcrux you must damage it so badly it will be unable to repair itself. Fiendfyre is how I destroyed the ring but-"

"Fire and I aren't exactly compatible."

"Exactly. Another way to destroy a Horcrux is through the use of basilisk venom."

"The basilisk is still in the Chamber," Harry said hopefully. "Do you think it still has some venom left? I could run down and check."

"There's no need for that. You do not need basilisk venom in its purest form to destroy a Horcrux, a weapon that has perhaps come in contact with the great snake's venom, if it were strong enough, would be able to imbibe the venom and would thus make a very effective Horcrux destroyer."

Harry gaped at Dumbledore. "Are you saying that my dagger would be able to destroy a Horcrux?"

"That is exactly what I'm saying."

"That makes things easier for me," Harry sighed. "One less thing I have to worry about."

Inexplicably, Dumbledore sobered at the statement. "Harry," he said sadly. "I feel that I must, once again, apologize for all of the wrongs I have done you-"

"You don't have to apologize, Headmaster."

"I don't, but if I will be dying in a few short hours, I would like to have cleared the air between us before I do so."

"I've already forgiven you," Harry said. "I understand now that you did what you thought was best at the time, even if it wasn't. You've been put under an enormous amount of pressure by the wizarding world, whenever something goes wrong they look to you for guidance, to fix things, so sometimes you are forced to make choices that sacrifices the life of one for the life of thousands. I don't agree with it, I never have, but I understand, and I forgive you for the choices you've made."

Tears filled the headmaster's eyes as he reached out to grasp Harry's hand. "Thank you."

* * *

Dumbledore died early the next morning. Just as the sun's rays cautiously peered over the horizon his entire body seized up and, one by one, his organs began shutting down. Pomfrey did everything she could to revive him, crying as she did so, but there was nothing she could do. He passed in the company of Harry, McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, Hagrid, and his brother, Aberforth with a small, sad smile on his face.

The small group sat around the deceased headmaster for several minutes, all silently dealing with their grief in their own way

"I-I need to make all of the necessary announcements and arrangements," McGonagall finally whispered slowly standing from her seat. "Mr. Potter, I suggest you try to get some sleep, I'm sure there will be many questions pertaining to tonight's events waiting for you when you wake."

"Of course," Harry murmured. "I'll-I'll be in my dorm."

He reached out and gently touched the dead headmaster's hand one last time before standing from his seat and leaving the infirmary. He was completely numb, he didn't remember the journey from the hospital wing to the common room. One moment he was mindlessly shuffling down the corridors, the next he was climbing the stairs that led to the sixth year's dorms and pushing the door open.

Harry almost cried at the normalcy of the sight that greeted him; his friends were stretched across his bed, fast asleep and looking incredibly peaceful. From their odd positions slumped against the bed posts, Harry figured that they had fallen asleep sitting up, waiting for him.

Harry contemplated allowing them to sleep through the rest of the night, they deserved this little bit of peace before their worlds went to hell. But the moment the door clicked shut, Draco stirred in bed, slowly waking up, and because he was so tightly entangled with near everyone else on the bed they too began stirring until he was faced with five sleepy eyed teenagers.

"Hey guys," he murmured, slowly crossing the room and sinking down into the tangle of limbs.

"Harry?" Hermione murmured sleepily.

He smiled weakly at her and just like that she and the rest of his friends were wide awake.

"Harry, you're back! How are you? Were you hurt? Did you find the Horcrux?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer the question, but no sound came out, he sat there for a moment struggling to find the words to describe that night's events.

"What is it, Harry?" Neville asked worriedly. "What happened?"

Finally Harry settled for a simple, succinct, "Dumbledore's dead."

"_What?_"

Harry flicked the curtains shut, activating the privacy wards he'd set up around his bed, then he slowly began detailing everything that had happened. He watched as horror battled with amazement on his friends faces before they all finally settled on grief.

"But you got the Horcrux right?" Hermione asked thickly, throat clogged with tears. "It wasn't all for nothing?"

"We got it," Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the locket. "He wanted me to destroy it myself, even told me how."

"How do you do it?" Draco asked reaching out to take and examine the locket.

"Basilisk venom."

"_Basilisk venom_?"

Harry nodded. "But in this case, my dagger will do just fine."

"What, why?" Blaise asked.

"Because, when I stabbed the basilisk with it in second year, the dagger absorbed some of its venom making it a very effective Horcrux destroyer."

"Well that's...is the Horcrux supposed to do this?" Everyone turned to look at Ron who had retrieved the Horcrux from Draco, he had been examining it when the tiny hinges suddenly clicked and the locket swung open. Harry's hand snapped out and snatched a small folded piece of paper that had fallen from the suddenly open locket.

Glancing quizzically at his friends, he unfolded the note and read the short note on the aged parchment. As he read the short note, his hands began shaking so violently they threatened to tear the thin parchment and the tears he had been resolutely holding back fell.

"Harry?" Neville whispered. "What...?"

"It's a fake," he whispered. "That-that isn't the real locket, it's a decoy."

"What, no! But-but you said..." Blaise trailed off, looking lost. "What does the note say?"

"To the Dark Lord," Harry read tearfully. "I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more. R.A.B.

"We went to that cave for nothing," Harry whispered "Dumbledore drank that bloody potion and died for a bloody _decoy!"_

"Maybe this R.A.B. destroyed the Horcrux," Hermione said hopefully.

"But we have no way of knowing," Draco said despairingly. "And how are we supposed to find out if he ever did? Do any of you know an R.A.B?"

"We can research him, I'm sure we'll find some-"

"Research," Ron spat. "Research is all we ever do and it never does us any good! We have no idea what the sixth Horcrux is or where _any _of them are hidden, and now Dumbledore, our last hope for any sort of help, is dead. Fuck research!" Ron drew his hand back to throw the locket, but as he did a weak ray of sunlight that had wormed its way through a crack in his curtains fell upon the necklace and Harry got his first good look at it.

"Wait!" he cried, stopping Ron in his tracks. "Wait," he said a second time, this time barely above a whisper, as he reached out and pulled the locket from Ron's hands. He looked down at the fake Horcrux and studied it intently. He'd seen the locket once before, in a memory and even then the familiarity of the necklace had bothered him, but now holding the fake Horcrux in his hand, he realized exactly where he'd come across the priceless Slytherin family heirloom.

"Kreacher!"

Things suddenly became much more uncomfortable as the filthy elf appeared in the already cramped space, but no one seemed to mind, one of them was too excited to care, while the others were too confused.

"Master has called for Kreacher?"

"Yes, I need you to tell me where this locket is? This is a replica so where is the original? Do you remember I gave it to you the summer we were cleaning Grimmauld Place."

The house elf looked confused. "Kreacher remembers. He has kept it nice and safe in his room, away from that thieving Mundungus."

"Get it for me, get it for me right now."

Kreacher bowed and popped away, but he returned almost immediately, clutching an exact replica of the fake Horcrux in his hand. The moment he reluctantly handed it to Harry, the teen knew that this locket wasn't a fake, the dark, malignant aura clinging to it like a filthy parasite proved that it could be nothing _but _a Horcrux.

"This is it," he whispered. "This is the Horcrux." His friends gasped in disbelief, but he didn't give them a chance to ask the questions they obviously wanted to as he was already turning to Kreacher. "Why was this at Grimmauld Place? Who brought it there?"

"It is Master's Regulus' locket," Kreacher said. "Master Regulus gave his life to retrieve it."

"Regulus," Harry breathed. "Of course, Regulus Arcturus Black."

"Who is this Regulus?" Hermione asked.

"Sirius' younger brother, he told me about him a few years back. Apparently he joined the Death Eater's fresh out of Hogwarts, but he was only with them for a few months before he realized that they weren't at all what he expected and wanted out. But of course getting out of the Death Eater's is easier said than done. He disappeared a few weeks before I was born, Sirius assumed that Voldemort found out about his change of heart and killed him for it."

"The Dark Lord did not kill Master Regulus," Kreacher whispered. "Master Regulus was taken by the Dark Lord's creatures."

"Creatures? What creatures? Do you mean the Inferi? Did he go to the cave?"

Kreacher nodded then, with prompting from Harry, tremulously recounted his story. Explaining how Regulus had volunteered Kreacher when the Dark Lord had informed his followers that he required a house elf's services, how Voldemort had taken him to the cave, forced him to drink the potion, and left him to die by the icy hands of the Inferi, how the only way he had been able to return home because Regulus had ordered him to do the Dark Lord's bidding and then to return home. The little elf began crying as he told Harry how Regulus had ordered him to take him to the cave, how the young wizard had drank the potions and swapped the lockets before being dragged under by the Inferi. Kreacher had taken the locket home and tried to follow his master's final orders by destroying the locket, but the Horcrux could not be destroyed, and so it remained in the Black house for years, tucked away in a forgotten cabinet until Harry had found it and once again set things in motion.

"Kreacher," Harry said softly to the sobbing elf, "I give you my word that I will finish Regulus' task and destroy this locket for you."

Kreacher looked up at Harry with large, watery eyes. "Master swears it?"

"I swear it. But until I do, can you trust me to hold onto this? To keep it safe for you?"

Kreacher nodded. "Kreacher can trust Master."

"Thank you for everything, Kreacher, I will be sure to let you know when the locket is destroyed."

After the elf had popped away, Harry reluctantly climbed from the safety of his bed and locked the Horcrux in his heavily warded trunk.

"I can already tell it's going to be an exhausting day," Ron said wryly. "And it's not even six o'clock yet."

Harry snorted ruefully as he collapsed onto the bed, ignoring his friends' protests that he was squishing their legs. "This is only the first of many," he said. "So you better get used to it."

* * *

The funeral was scheduled only a few days after the actual death, and the turnout was, unsurprisingly, quite impressive. Wizards and witches from all around the world were pouring into Hogsmeade, preparing to pay their last respects to Dumbledore, while a delegation of Ministry officials, including the Minister of Magic himself, were already being accommodated within the castle.

The day of the burial, all of the students assembled in the Great Hall and lined themselves up in columns according to their houses. The professors led the solemn congregation down to the lake where hundreds of chairs had been set out in rows. An aisle ran down the centre of them, and at the end was a marble table standing at the front.

The funeral began with the mermaids of the lake singing a strange, otherworldly song as a weeping Hagrid carried Dumbledore, who was wrapped in a purple velvet shroud adorned with golden stars, to the marble table set at the front of the crowd. Then a little tufty-haired man in plain black robes stepped in front of Dumbledore's body and began to speak, reciting things about "nobility of spirit", "intellectual contribution", "greatness of heart", but Harry didn't bother li. None of these fancy words and phrases were ones that Harry would usually associate with Dumbledore. A man whose idea of a few words were "nitwit", "oddment", "blubber" and "tweak".

Finally the little man in black stopped speaking and resumed his seat. Harry waited for somebody else to get to their feet, he expected speeches, probably from the Minister, but nobody moved. Then several people screamed when bright, white flames suddenly erupted around Dumbledore's body and the table upon which it lay, obscuring the body. White smoke spiraled into the air and made strange shapes. Harry thought that he saw a phoenix fly joyfully into the blue, but then the fire had vanished. In its place was a white marble tomb, encasing Dumbledore's body and the table on which he had rested.

The centaurs, who had been lurking along the edges of the forest throughout the entire funeral, shot a slew of arrows into the sky as their last tribute, before returning to the depths of the forest.

And then it was over, slowly mourners gathered their belongings and began heading back up to the castle.

"Shall we walk?" Harry asked softly.

There were nods from all of his friends, they stood from their seats and slowly began on a path in the direction of the Whomping Willow, away from the slowly dispersing crowd.

"Do you think the rumors are true?" Hermione asked. "Will Hogwarts really be closing?"

"McGonagall hasn't decided yet," Harry said, he was the only one able to answer the question as he had been present when the matter had been discussed. "Now that Dumbledore is...gone, there's nothing keeping Voldemort from attacking the school, but Hogwarts' wards are ancient, it would take a lot of power, perhaps more than he has at his disposal, to break through them, and many of the professors have agreed that if a single pupil wants to come, then the school ought to remain open for that pupil.

"But it doesn't matter either way for me. Whether Hogwarts closes or it stays open, I won't be coming back."

"Where will you go then?" Ron asked.

"Grimmauld Place, I know Dumbledore would have wanted me to go back to Privet Drive to renew the blood wards one last time, but I honestly couldn't care less what happened to the Dursley's, they were never my family so they'll be useless if Voldemort decides to use them as leverage."

"What will you be doing in Grimmauld Place though?" Draco asked. "There's only so much researching you can do."

"I plan to prepare for when it's finally time for me to face Voldemort. I know that I'm more powerful than him, but he has decades of experience on me, I need to learn how to hold my own against him so that the next time we fight I don't have to rely on luck and raw magical power alone."

"And the Horcruxes?"

"If Dumbledore was right, and I'm sure he was, there are still four of them out there. I've got to find them and destroy them and then I've got to go after the seventh bit of Voldemort's soul, the bit that's still in his body."

"Alright," Blaise said. "When do we leave?"

"What?"

"When do we leave? To Grimmauld Place?"

"You're not-"

"Oh, shut up with the protests, Harry, we're going with you and that's final," the dark skinned Slytherin said firmly. "You can prepare for your inevitable showdown with ol' snake face, but you're going to need someone to watch your back, hold off his sycophantic followers while you get rid of him. That's what we're here for."

Harry opened his mouth to object, but then he saw the determined faces of his five friends and realized that not only would whatever protests he came up with would be disregarded, but also that Blaise was right, he would need someone watching his back while he fought Voldemort, and who better to do that than his best friends?

"All right," he conceded. "We leave in a week."

* * *

Loki gaped at the book in his hand in disbelief. It couldn't be this easy, after months and months of concentrated searching, he couldn't have just _stumbled_ upon the answer when looking up a fertility ritual for his mother.

"Loki?"

"Hmm?"

Frigga approached her distracted son worriedly. "Are you all right? Did you find it?"

"Wha...? Oh yes, it's in here."

Frigga held out her hand expectantly, but when the book wasn't handed to her she raised a brow. "Well, may I have it?"

"Yes, yes, of course. Let me just..." He swiped a hand over a page in the book, seamlessly creating a copy, before carelessly shoving the replica page into his pocket and handing the book to his mother.

Loki pressed an absentminded kiss to her cheek before hurrying from the library. His heart raced excitedly and his gut churned nervously as he walked briskly to his study and placed several privacy wards on the door to prevent any interruptions.

When that was done, he pulled the slightly crumpled replica of the ritual from his pocket and read it over again. It was an inheritance ritual used when one wanted to see what genetic traits their child had inherited from each of their parents. It was ridiculously easy to perform, all it required was a lock of the subject's hair and the recital of the written words.

Luckily there would be no need to go all the way to Midgard to retrieve some of his son's hair. Not long after finding out about his existence, Loki had collected a lock of his hair, so that just in case anything ever happened to Harry, he could use the hair to track him down.

He retrieved the vial that held the hair from a hidden compartment in his writing table and placed the lock on a blank piece of parchment. Pushing aside his nervousness, Loki muttered the words to the ritual, as they rolled smoothly over his tongue he felt the thrum of magic charge the air. The hair on the parchment began to curl into itself, smoking until they were reduced to a liquid as inky as the locks had once been, and began forming letters on the parchment.

First was Harry's name, Haraldr Ivarr Kaden Lokison, followed by his mother's, Lily Potter, and his father, Loki. He was briefly puzzled over why only his given name was written, but the thoughts were quickly chased from his mind when the next words appeared, listing Harry's status as alive.

The book had told him that the next to be listed would be the gifts Harry had inherited from both him and his mother, then, if the subject had been born from a couple of differing species and mortality, which in this case he had, it would reveal which of their mortalities he had inherited. After that they would list both parents' species and which of the two was dominant in his blood, but he cared little for anything but his son's mortality, besides he already knew that he was Æsir and Lily was Seiðr.

He waited with bated breath as each of his son's abilities were written out painfully slowly, there were quite a few so that process took several minutes, and then it was time. First Lily's name was written, followed by her mortality status, then his, and then, finally, Harry's.

Loki's breath stopped as he read exactly how long his son would live, tears clouded his vision and overflowed, spilling down his cheeks. The spell continued to write:

_Lily Potter: Seiðr _

_ Loki: Asgardian-Jot-_

The magic coming off of Loki in waves cut the spell off and bled the ink, causing the words to blur before he could even see them. But he neither knew nor cared as he was too busy reeling in the shock the revelation sent coursing through his body, freezing him in place even as he cried silently.

His son was mortal.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Malfoy Manor had once been a place of great splendor. The grounds had been magnificent, carefully manicured every week by a team of well-trained house elves, there had been extravagant gardens blooming with all sorts of colorful, rare flowers, beautifully carved fountains bubbling merrily at near every corner, there had even been pure, white _peacocks_ strutting across the grounds. And it only got better when one entered the manor, if the sheer size of the place didn't impress you, the beautiful, clearly expensive decoration would. The whole place screamed of extravagance and wealth. Or at least it had.

The manor was by no means empty, it was teeming with Death Eaters who had, after being released from Azkaban two years ago, needed a place to lay low for a while. But it had been almost a year since a Malfoy, by blood or by marriage, had entered the manor, and, because the very magic of the place was tied to the members of the family, the manor slowly began to deteriorate. The grounds were now in a perpetual state of disorder, the hedges were growing too quickly to be trimmed, vines and weeds were growing in the fountains, on the garden, and along the manor walls, choking the flowers and blocking off the water flow, and the grass had grown so tall and so thick creatures had taken up residence in it. And the interior was even worse, no matter how many windows were thrown open the air remained stagnant and stale, dust was everywhere, and the candles didn't seem to burn as bright as they once had. The portraits remained stoic and silent, glaring down at the manors occupants with heavy disdain, and a haunted, heavy air hung throughout the manor. There had been a rash of house elf suicides when, no matter how hard they worked, the property remained unkempt, while a good number of the little creatures had simply worked themselves to death.

None of the Death Eaters seemed to mind, though, even in its deteriorating state, Malfoy Manor remained far better lodgings than Azkaban had been. And the cobwebs in the corner and the oppressive atmosphere created by the extensive use of dark magic seemed to suit Voldemort. He could almost always be found in the drawing room off of the main hall, reclined in a large, throne-like chair.

It was there he was sitting when one of his lower ranking followers, a boy fresh out of Hogwarts, burst into the room, wide-eyed and panting in excitement.

"My lord," he gasped, dipping into a deep bow, "I have news."

"Speak, Pucey."

"My contacts at Hogwarts have told me that-that Dumbledore is _dead_, he passed away early this morning."

Voldemort's red eyes widened and he sat up straighter in his chair. "Who is your contact?

"Terence Higgs," Pucey said. "A Slytherin, in his seventh year."

"What did he tell you? How did Dumbledore die?"

"This morning, after breakfast, McGonagall called for a mandatory meeting, to round up any stragglers or students who skipped breakfast, and informed them of the Headmaster's passing early this morning. She didn't elaborate on how he died or even what had happened, but people are suspecting that Potter was with him when it happened."

"Why?"

"He was seen visiting the headmaster last evening," Pucey explained. "He ran through the common room at about eight in the evening, after that no one saw either of them for the rest of the night. Potter and his friends weren't at breakfast, but McGonagall was unconcerned by their absence."

"Well done, Pucey," Voldemort commended. "If your information proves correct, you will be greatly rewarded. Now give me your arm."

The teen hurried to kneel before the dark lord and proffer his bared left arm. He cringed when Voldemort pressed a bony finger to his mark, sending a spike of pain through his arm.

"Sit," Voldemort said, gesturing to the seat left of him.

Pucey sat stiffly in the seat, waiting anxiously for whoever the dark lord had summoned. It took several minutes before the doors to the room swung open and an enviously composed Snape strode into the room.

"You called, my lord?"

"Is it true?" Voldemort asked without any preamble.

Snape felt no need to request an elaboration, Pucey's presence told him everything he needed to know. "It is. He died at around five this morning."

"How?" Voldemort breathed excitedly.

"A dark curse not even I could identify, the most I could tell you about it was that it looked like a very advanced flesh eating curse."

"How was he cursed?"

"Last evening, he and Potter left the school for a reason they revealed to no one, not even me. When they returned several hours later, Dumbledore had been cursed, there was nothing Pomfrey or I could do, he died not long after. There should be a formal announcement in a special edition of the Prophet this evening."

"This changes so everything. I must gather everyone, new plans must be made."

Without prompting, Snape held out his arm and allowed Voldemort to use his mark to call the others. The call was urgent and meant for any who bore the mark, so it burned like a concentrated Cruciatus, but the man didn't so much as wince.

Before long, Death Eaters were filing into the room, equally curious and fearful about the impromptu summons; they cautiously settled along the long table, careful not to do anything that may incite their lord's wrath. When the last of the Death Eaters had been seated, silence descended across the room, Voldemort allowed his followers to stew in silence for a few minutes, he savored their fears and worries before speaking.

"Today," he finally said, "is a very good day."

The relief those six simple words elicited was palpable, nearly every shoulder in the room slumped and there were several gusty sighs of relief.

"Dumbledore is dead." Gasps and excited murmurs rippled across the room, Voldemort smiled and nodded indulgently at his followers. "I know," he said, "this is extraordinary news, but we will have a time to celebrate later. Dumbledore's death, while a very welcome turn of events, is cause for a few change of plans. Bellatrix?"

Immediately, the woman in question perked up, looking to him eagerly. "I would like you to gather a dozen of our best men and take them to Azkaban. I believe it is time for our comrades to return home."

Bellatrix nodded eagerly and bowed her head repeatedly, but not a single word left her grinning lips, something he had Potter to thank for. The damage the frostbite had done to her throat over a year ago had been extensive and, to her horror, irreparable. The curse Potter had cast on her, whatever it was, had destroyed several important components in her throat, her lungs and vocal cords being two of them. It had taken several long hours and a disgusting amount of healing magic before she was no longer in danger of dying. Her lungs had, while not with any ease on the medi-wizard's part, been healed, but her vocal cords had not, and she was rendered permanently mute. Luckily the woman was already proficient in wordless magic, so she wasn't rendered completely useless.

"I expect those Bellatrix chooses to take on this mission to follow her orders exactly, if you don't you will be punished severely. Is that understood?" He nodded in satisfaction when his faithful followers all murmured their assent. "Very good. Severus, how has the Hogwarts staff reacted to the headmaster's passing?"

Snape sneered. "They've been crying and bemoaning their fates since they found out. It's pathetic, there is absolutely no order in that school."

"Good, that's exactly what we want. And Yaxley, how is the infiltration of the Ministry going?"

"Very well, my lord, Thickness should be under our control by the end of the month and we'll be one step closer to gaining control."

"Hmm," Voldemort leaned back in his seat and steepled his long fingers thoughtfully, "that is good, very good, however, I believe it in light of the Headmaster's recent demise, it would be in our best interest to modify our plans accordingly."

Yaxley only just managed to mask his incredulity, he'd been working on this plan for _months_, he'd performed the most degrading tasks in hopes of getting just a little bit closer to achieving his goal, and now his lord just wanted to give that all up, disregard all of the hard work he had done, and come up with a _new _plan? "I...what do you have in mind, my lord?"

"Do not be offended, Yaxley," Voldemort said, giving the man a look that told him that he knew every thought that had just passed through his mind and that they did nothing more than amuse him. "You're plan was brilliant. Ruling from the shadows, spreading fear and hatred through propaganda purveyed by a corrupt government, it's very Slytherin. Unfortunately, with Dumbledore dead, our greatest adversary is now Potter, and he is Slytherin as well. So I think it'd be best if we took a more _Gryffindor_ approach."

"G-Gryffindor?" Yaxley stammered.

"Yes," Voldemort said smugly. "No more lurking in the shadows, we're going to strike while we can. We will seize the dual pillars of the wizarding world, Hogwarts and the Ministry. They will bow to us or they will die."

* * *

Harry sighed gustily as he looked at the mess cluttering his bedroom floor. After Dumbledore's funeral, he and his friends had agreed to return to their respective homes for a few days to get their affairs in order before they would meet back up at the Burrow, they would remain there only until Bill and Fleur's wedding. After the wedding, they would relocate to Grimmauld Place and begin preparing for the final confrontation with Voldemort and his followers.

The Dursleys had been pleased when he'd told them that they would only have to endure his presence for only three more days, after those three days, he assured them that he would never darken their doorstep again. However, they'd been horrified when they'd discovered the reason behind his hasty departure. Apparently the name Voldemort struck fear into even the hearts of muggles, even though they had very little idea what the name meant or who Voldemort was. His relatives were already making plans to leave Privet Drive for a place they'd be safe, Australia perhaps.

But now that the day of his departure was here, Harry lamented the fact that he hadn't taken the time he was here to sort through his things properly. The whole purpose of returning to the Dursleys' home for the first few days of the summer was so that he could examine everything he owned and decide what he wanted to take to Grimmauld Place with him, what he wanted to store in his vault at Gringotts, and what he wanted to throw away. But the thought of getting rid of things he'd had since he was eleven years old or even younger was frightening in its finality, so he'd put it off to the very last minute and now he was regretting it.

Grumbling regretfully to himself, Harry tossed a few textbooks into the storage pile and a pair of holey, old trainers into the discard pile, then sighed when he saw that it hadn't even made the slightest dent in the enormous pile that held all of his belongings. He figured he had maybe an hour before it was time for him to leave for the Burrow; if he picked up the pace a bit he'd be able to finish in just enough time as long as he wasn't distracted.

"What in Ymir's name are you doing?"

"Sorting," Harry muttered not even bothering to look away from the onerous pile he was sorting through, he was too used to his father's sudden appearances to be the slightest bit startled by them.

"Sorting what?" Loki asked, gingerly stepping around his discard pile.

"Every single thing I own." Several broken quills, an empty Bertie Botts container, and shards from a broken potions vial were thrown into the trash in rapid succession, before Harry rose to his feet and allowed Loki to pull him into a hug. "It's been a minute since you last visited," he muttered into the god's shoulder, at sixteen he still had a ways to go before he matched his tall father height-wise. "Is everything all right on Asgard?"

"Everything is fine," Loki said after a barely noticeable hesitation. "There's been a bit of conflict with the Jotuns, but nothing you need to worry about." He held Harry tight for a few more moments, before releasing him reluctantly. This was the first time he was visiting his son since he'd discover his mortality, and it was perhaps the first time he didn't feel content in the boy's presence. All he felt was worry, a smidgen of anger, and a terrible, all-encompassing dread. His son was mortal, he would age and die in a heartbeat, while he would be forced to live on and on and on for many millennia to come. The thought was unbearable.

"So why are you sorting every single thing you own?" Loki asked, shoving his wretched thoughts into the deepest, darkest corner of his mind to be perused later, (read: never).

"I'm finally leaving this place," Harry said. "I figured I should get rid of the things I don't want, need, or use, and either put the rest in storage or take it with me."

"And how's the sorting going?" Loki laughed at Harry's annoyed grimace. "Perhaps you would like some assistance?"

Harry sighed in relief. "Please? Anything pre-Hogwarts, Dudley's castoffs, and all of his old toys and books I never got rid of go straight to discard, as well as quills, ink bottles, parchment, school paraphernalia. Textbooks go to storage and I'll sort the rest out."

Loki nodded, then plopped unceremoniously onto the floor and began sorting through the largest pile in the center of the room, Harry happily joined him.

Between the two of them they made quick work of the pile, in only half an hour they'd sorted, discarded, and packed everything accordingly. Harry's bedroom, which had always been on the sparse side, now looked barren.

The whole process was oddly cleansing, as if he was finally shaking off the garbage of his past and was starting anew. Once Voldemort was out of the picture, perhaps that could become a reality.

With packing out of the way, Loki sat on the bed while moved his trunk to rest beside his bedroom door.

"So what are your plans?" Loki asked once Harry had settled down beside him. "Will you be remaining at Ron's family home until Hogwart's term begins?"

Harry bit his lip and, in an attempt to hide the nervous gesture, looked down at his lap. He had yet to tell Loki about his plan to drop out of Hogwarts with his friends and, honestly, he'd been dreading the conversation. He already knew exactly how his father would react.

"I'll be staying at the Burrow for the first half of the summer," he said, glancing nervously up at Loki, who was already beginning to look suspicious, "but after the wedding I, along with Ron, Hermione, Neville, Draco, and Blaise, will be going to Grimmauld Place."

"I sense that there's more to this."

"We won't be returning to Hogwarts," Harry said hurriedly, hoping that if he said it quickly it would somehow lessen the impact of his words.

Loki was silent for a moment, which was never a good sign, and when he finally spoke, his voice was soft, but no less dangerous. "And why will you not be returning to Hogwarts?"

"Well, Dumbledore's dead..."

"So I've been told."

"Which means it's up to me now to find and destroy the Horcruxes."

"Forgive me," Loki said sarcastically, "but I was under the impression that Dumbledore had an entire group devoted to doing this very thing. The Order of the Phoenix, I believe they're called."

"They don't know about the Horcruxes."

"Why don't they?"

"Because Dumbledore believed that the less people who knew about Horcruxes the better."

"How do you expect to fight alongside these people if you can't even trust them with such important information?"

"It wasn't my decision," Harry said. "Besides, even if I do tell them about the Horcruxes and they end up helping us track them down, I still won't be going to Hogwarts. I have to focus on training myself for when I have to face Voldemort. I have to be the one who kills him, the prophecy won't allow anything else."

"I thought we agreed when we first heard it," Loki said stiffly, "that we would not be taking the words of some _prophecy_." He said the word as if it left a nasty taste in his mouth. "You are not destined for anything but a _long_, happy life."

"_We_ didn't agree to anything, you told me that I wouldn't be facing Voldemort under any circumstances, and when I tried to make you see reason you called me a Thor."

"You will not have your fate ordained by some shady prophecy!"

"You don't understand, do you, Dad?" Harry cried, leaping to his feet. "Whether the prophecy is accurate or not doesn't mean _anything_. Voldemort believes it's true so it is, he's going to hunt me to the edges of the earth, he's going to kill me, erase my very existence from this universe if it means keeping himself and his twisted plans for immortality and world domination safe.

"All that talk about vanquishing and powers the dark lord knows not can be complete rubbish because, in the end, only one line of that whole damned prophecy matters: _One must die at the hand of the other_. I don't want to be the one who 'dies at the hand of the other', but how can I expect to emerge victorious if I sit around at Hogwarts learning how to summon pincushions and turn ravens into writing desks!

"So please, Dad, _please_, can you just support me on this? No more talk about carting me off to some distant corner of the universe where I can live out my life in sheltered, miserable safety while my friends and the people they care about are cut down in droves. Let me face Voldemort once and for all, let me kill him."

"Do you know what you're asking me?" Loki whispered desperately. "You're asking me to stand aside while you face off against a monster that is as close to invincible as a mortal can get. You want me to go against everything I believe in as a father, to willingly allow you in harm's way. What if he is too much for even you? What if, for all your training, you are unable to defeat him?"

"Then he'll kill me," Harry said calmly. "But I would be dying a warrior's death, I will feast in Valhalla until the end of times. Don't you find comfort in that thought?"

"I don't. No thought involving your death brings me comfort. You were meant to live forever."

Harry smiled sadly at that proclamation. "No one lives forever. So why should I?"

"Because the world would be a much darker place without you."

"You're my father, your opinion is biased."  
"That doesn't make it any less right," Loki said stubbornly.

"Perhaps, but don't think you're distracting me from the matter at hand. Will you support me and my decision to stay and to fight and, hopefully, _kill_ Voldemort? Will you trust me to do what I think is right?"

Loki sighed wearily. "I...I do not believe for a moment that Tom Riddle is more powerful than you, but he is much older and much more experienced than you when it comes to taking lives, which means you cannot win this fight with brute force alone," Loki hesitated. "I will have to teach you everything I know, I will not allow you to face that aberration unprepared."

"Does that-does that mean you're with me on this?"

"Of course I am."

Immediately, Harry was on his feet and in the man's arms, hugging him tightly. "Thank you."

"Think nothing of it, little trickster," Loki whispered, desperately trying to ignore the feeling of dread gnawing at his gut.

* * *

Moving Harry from Privet Drive to the Burrow remained a very simple affair; Mr. Weasley, Tonks, and Kingsley arrived directly in Harry's room at half past three, Tonks and Kingsley remained behind to make sure there were no problems while Mr. Weasley side along apparated Harry to the clearing just outside of the Burrow's wards. Bill and Mad-Eye escorted them up to the house where Mrs. Weasley was waiting for them with a late lunch already prepared.

"The others are already upstairs getting settled," Mrs. Weasley said as she bustled about the kitchen, directing cutlery to wash itself and the broom to sweep the floor unguided. "You can join them once you've had a bite to eat, you're looking a bit thin, dear."

Harry suffered her mother henning for a little more than a quarter of an hour, he consumed several hearty turkey sandwiches and allowed her to fuss over the state of his shoulder length hair before he begged off with the excuse of catching up with his friends. She shoved one last sandwich into his hands before reluctantly allowing him to flee to Ron's overcrowded bedroom, where he was greeted warmly by his friends.

"Did the muggles give you any trouble?" Draco asked.

"No," Harry said, "they avoided me for the most part, they went out to London earlier today and were still gone when I left. I'm sure they'll be relieved to find me gone when they return."

"Did your dad stop by this week?"

Harry nodded. "He came by about an hour ago, I told him what we had planned."

Blaise snorted in amusement. "And how did he react to that?"

"Pretty well, all things considered. As a matter of fact, after a bit of gentle, and by gentle I mean the complete opposite, persuasion he gave in on one condition."

"Which is?" Neville asked warily.

"It was actually more of an ultimatum. We can drop out of Hogwarts and run around the country searching for Voldemort's Horcruxes as long as he has a hand in our training."

"You say that is if it's a bad thing!" Hermione exclaimed. "Can you imagine all the knowledge we would gain from being trained by a _god_. We'd really have a chance against Voldemort and his Death Eaters."

"You say that as if we didn't before!" Ron protested.

"Of course we did, but now we can do so much more, we won't have to rely on the Order."

"That's another thing we need to discuss," Harry said. "Dad wanted to know how we planned to fight alongside the Order if we're keeping secrets from them, and I kind of agree with him. I'm not saying we should tell them _everything_, just enough to show that we do trust them. You know, the basic gist of the Horcruxes and how we plan to destroy them."  
"I'm all for that idea," Ron said immediately. "It'd definitely put Mum off of our scent, I think she suspects something's up. She hasn't started pestering us about it yet, but she's bound to start up soon enough."

"I agree," Hermione said. "Though we should only tell the most trusted members of the Order, we don't want _everyone _to know."

"You think someone would talk?" Neville asked.

"No, but the more people who know, the more likely it is for an accident to happen. When it comes to people like Mundungus or even Hagrid, all it takes are a few pints and they're spilling every secret they possess to a complete stranger. The less people who know the better."

"Agreed," Draco said. "But who should we tell?"

"Ron's mum, dad, and brothers, of course," Blaise said. "There's no need to tell Ginny, though."

Ron nodded in agreement.

"Remus, as well," Harry said. "And Mad-Eye, Kingsley, and maybe Tonks, we want a few people who are in the Aurors to know so they can keep an eye out for anything that can indicate the presence of a Horcrux. Anyone else?"

"McGonagall," Neville added. "Flitwick. Snape?"

That suggestion prompted a bit of hesitation.

"It's not that I don't trust him," Harry said. "He's proven time and time again that, despite his prickly demeanor, he's a good man, but he's in Voldemort's inner circle. What if Voldemort manages to break into his mind and finds out what we're up to?"

"I think that's a risk we may have to take," Hermione said. "Like you said, Snape is in Voldemort's _inner circle_, if anyone can find out where the Horcruxes are hidden it would be him."

"Besides, isn't Snape a master Occlumens?" Ron piped in. "He's been able to hide the fact that he's a spy for over a decade now, one more secret shouldn't hurt."

"All right, so we'll be telling Snape as well?" Draco asked, and nodded in satisfaction once the fact was confirmed. "Thirteen people. Let's hope suspicion proves to be incorrect and that's actually our _lucky _number."

* * *

Later that same night partway through dinner, Mrs. Weasley proved Ron's earlier prediction to be true when she attempted to subtly dig for information.

"So Draco dear," she said, scooping a second serving of roasted potatoes onto the blonde's plate. "A few days ago you mentioned you'd only be staying until the wedding, will you be spending the rest of the summer with your mother?"

"I may visit her for a few days sometime next month," Draco said, warily poking at the towering pile of food on his plate. "But I'll actually be going to Grimmauld Place after the wedding."

"Why would you be going to that drab old place? You're more than welcome to stay here until term starts."

"Thank you, I really appreciate that. But..." Draco glanced at his friends, all of whom gave him encouraging nods. "But I won't be returning to Hogwarts next year. Actually, none of us," he gestured to himself and his friends, "will be. We'll all be going to Grimmauld Place where we'll be preparing to face Voldemort."

The bowl of potatoes hit the floor with a loud _thud_ and cracked clean in two. "_What_?" Mrs. Weasley gasped. "Why...?"

"Dumbledore left me with a task the night he died," Harry explained calmly. "It's something I have to do in order to stop Voldemort."

"What's this task?" Mrs. Weasley asked desperately. "If you tell us we might be able to help."

"We already plan to tell you everything, or almost everything. But not now just give us a bit of time."

"How much time?"

"After the wedding," Harry said. "Some of the things we're going to tell you...none of it's particularly happy, we don't want to darken the mood any more than it already is. Can we agree to that?"

"I-I suppose," the Weasley matriarch said hesitantly.

Harry beamed at the woman. "Thank you for understanding," he said, relieved that she hadn't put up much of a fight.

Mrs. Weasley smiled and smoothed a hand over his head. "You're a good boy, you're all good kids, I trust you to make the right choices."

"Haven't you heard, Mrs. Weasley?" Blaise said, reaching for the bowl of greens. "We're renowned for our responsibility and exceptional decision making traits." He somehow managed to keep a straight face even as his friends broke out in incredulous laughter. "Salad anyone?"

* * *

The weeks leading up to Bill and Fleur's wedding was spent in chaos as last minute details were ironed out, sleeping arrangements were made, and every nook and cranny of the house was cleaned spotless in preparation for the Delacours' arrival.

Due to the heavy amount of security put around the Burrow, the small family had to portkey to the edge of the property where they were be met by Mr. Weasley who led them down to the house, entertaining them the entire way with amusing stories of the antics his family, mainly the twins, got up to.

Fleur greeted her parents and younger sister exuberantly then led them through introductions, pointing out her husband's family first, before moving on to Neville, Blaise, Draco, and Hermione with Harry being the very last.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Delacour," Harry said, shaking the man's hand warmly. "Madame." When his hand came in contact with hers, Harry felt the familiar ice in his veins stir in reaction to the veela's presence, ensuring that she and her fire would be no threat to him.

Something similar must have happened to the Delacour matriarch as a sudden surge of warmth heated Harry's hand, before settling back down. The woman gave him a shrewd look, but didn't seem all that surprised by the phenomena, Fleur must have warned her.

"Well, now that introductions are through, please, come in," Mrs. Weasley said, unaware of what had just occurred, and, judging from their happily oblivious faces, neither had any of the others.

Everyone happily filed into the kitchen where refreshments were served while lodging arrangements were discussed. The addition of three extra guests made the already tightly packed house even more crowded, but it was quickly decided that Mr. and Mrs. would move to the sitting room for a few days so that Madame and Monsieur Delacour could have their bedroom, while Fleur and Gabrielle would be bunking in Percy's old room, the room Harry and Blaise had formerly been occupying. Ron's room had been enlarged enough so that they could squeeze in with Neville, Ron, and Draco, it was still going to be a tight fit, but they would make do.

"Isn't this fun?" Blaise said cheerfully that night as he slid into his squashy sleeping bag, "it's just like third year all over again."

"You and I have a very different definition of fun," Draco scoffed. "I didn't enjoy it back then and I certainly don't now."

"Oh, quit your griping," Harry said humorously. "You may as well get used to this, we might end up sleeping in far worse places."

"Worse? Define worse."

"Well, we'll be hunting for Horcruxes soon enough, who knows where that'll take us, or how long we'll be there. We could end up camping out somewhere, I heard the Forest of Dean is lovely this time of year."

The next morning when the group tromped down to the kitchen for breakfast, it was to find the table piled high with colorfully wrapped gifts.

"Happy birthday, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley said, sweeping him into a hug. Neville's birthday had been the previous day, and while he had received and opened his presents then, he and Harry had agreed to celebrate their birthdays together, to save Mrs. Weasley the hassle of coordinating two parties.

The presents were systematically torn open and the appropriate thanks was given out before they moved onto breakfast. Harry and the others hung around, chatting happily as they ate second and third helpings of everything, but when Madame Delacour, Fleur, and Gabrielle arrived, they moved out of the kitchen to open up a bit of space.

On their way back up the stairs to Ron's room, however, they were stopped when Ginny poked her head out of her bedroom on the first floor landing.

"Harry?" she said. "Could I talk to you for a second?"

The teen in question hesitated for a moment, unsure what the younger girl wanted from him, but eventually he nodded and shoved the presents he'd been carrying into Draco's arms. "Take those upstairs for me, would you?"

"Of course," the blonde drawled sarcastically. "I only, after all, live to serve you."

"I knew there was a reason I kept you around," Harry said cheerfully, then ducked into Ginny's room before he could retaliate. Though he thought he heard Draco muttering quite the variety of expletives under his breath before Ginny shut the door.

"So what did you want to talk to me about?" Harry asked, looking around the room curiously. It was pretty much like he'd expected it to be, not overly large, painted a neutral color with posters and pictures on the wall and a desk shoved under the window.

"I wanted to wish you a happy seventeenth and, um, give you your present."

Harry smiled at her. "Thanks, Gin, but you didn't have to get me anything."

"I know," the girl said, nervously playing with her fingers, "and I wasn't going to at first, I didn't know what to get you. But then I figured, you and the others are running off on some grand mission in a few days and I wanted to give you something to remember me by."

"Remember you b-" Harry's confused query was cut off when a pair of soft, too warm lips were suddenly covering his own. He stood there for a moment, stiff with shock, he could honestly say that he hadn't seen this one coming. Harry had thought Ginny's feelings for him were strictly platonic, if even that, the few times they'd interacted had been friendly, but nothing to indicate a blossoming romance.

It was only when Ginny swiped the tip of her tongue along his bottom lip that Harry was finally able to shake himself from his surprise enough to take the girl by her shoulders and gently push her away.

"I'm sorry, Ginny," he said, "but..."

"But you don't see me as anything more than a friend," Ginny said bitterly, she turned away from Harry with a sigh of frustration. "I guess I should have seen this coming, Hermione _did_ tell me not to get my hopes up, that you didn't see me that way, but I couldn't help but hope...I grew up on stories about you, you know? The Boy-Who-Lived, the boy who defeated You-Know-Who, but when I finally met you, you were so much more than the stories claimed. You were brave, smart, funny, and then you saved me from Riddle...and I knew I was gone." She turned desperate, pleading eyes on him. "Can you honestly say you don't feel anything for me?"

"Of course I feel something for you, it's just...I don't have any _romantic_ feelings for you."

"But why? Is it because I'm not pretty enough? Is it my freckles? Or do you like someone who's smarter?

"It has nothing to do with your looks or your intelligence, Gin," Harry placated. "I've known your family since I was eleven, you lot took me in, I came to see you guys as family. You're like my sister."

"Sister," Ginny said hollowly. "I'm like a sister to you." She laughed bitterly and shook her head. "Someone up there must really hate me."

"I'm sorry," Harry said again. "Maybe if circumstances had been different..."

"Maybe."

He held his arms out and she willingly stepped into the embrace.

"Trust me," he said into her mane of red hair, "being my sister is _loads _better than being my girlfriend. I don't see myself settling down with anyone anytime soon, I wouldn't want a messy break up to ruin our relationship."

Ginny pulled Harry closer, reveling in the tight band of muscles holding her to his firm chest, then muttered too quietly for him to hear. "It'd be worth it."

* * *

"_For he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fellow_!"

Harry delightedly waved an imaginary baton in the air, conducting the cringeworthy 'music' his friends and family were producing, while Neville ducked his head in embarrassment and Mrs. Weasley levitated an enormous cake to the table. "_Which nobody can deny!_"

As the song came to a close, Harry swept into an elaborate bow to the cheers and applause of his friends, then leapt off of the bench he was using as his podium. "This looks amazing, Mrs. Weasley," he said, looking at the enormous cake elaborately iced in different shades of gold, green, silver, and red.

"You didn't have to go through so much trouble for us," Neville piped in.

"Of course I did," Mrs. Weasley said, beaming at the two boys. "Turning seventeen is a big thing."

"But did you have to make such a _big _cake?"

"We have a lot of mouths to feed."

Neither of the teens could argue with that point, the turnout to their joint birthday party was impressive to say the least. On top of the eight Weasley's and four Delacours, Hagrid had arrived, as had Remus, Luna and several members of the Order. Neville's grandmother had been unable to make it, but she sent her grandson her love and a very nice set of Herbology tools in recompense.

Instead of attempting to squeeze themselves into the inadequately sized kitchen, several tables had been lined up end to end in the garden, which had been decorated in purple and gold streamers with little floating lanterns also colored purple. The table had been groaning under the weight of an exorbitant amount of food an hour or so ago, but, by now, everything had been devoured.

With birthday songs sung, Mrs. Weasley began the task of cutting and handing out the cake. The first two slices were given to Harry and Neville, then the rest were passed around to the others.

"This is fantastic, Mum!" Ron said, already going back for a second slice.

"I don't know how you're able to even eat one slice, let alone two," Hermione said, watching in awed disgust as he attacked the dessert. "You ate so much for lunch and even more for dinner. How do you have any room for dessert?"

"I'm always on the go," the redhead said. "I need to eat a lot to replace all of the energy I'm losing."

"Always on the go?" Blaise repeated incredulously. "You didn't get out of bed today until two in the afternoon today."

"You told me you were taking care of the ghoul in the attic!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed.

Ron groaned. "Thanks a lot, mate."

He, however, was saved from the inevitable lecture when, off in the distance, there was the telltale _crack _of Apparition. Everyone drew their wands and waited in tense silence as the sound of footsteps steadily approached. It was very unlikely that a Death Eater had managed to find their way onto the property due to the impressive wards set up in preparation for Harry's arrival, but it was best to be prepared just in case.

"Arthur!" Everyone relaxed when Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped into the light coming from the softly glowing lanterns.

"Kingsley?" Mr. Weasley said, taking a step in the man's direction. "What are you doing here? I thought you had work to do at the Ministry."

"I do," the man panted. "Or I did. But I have news."

"What is it? What's happened?"

"There's been a breakout. Hundreds of You-Know-Who's followers have escaped Azkaban."

And just like that, the cheerful mood plummeted. Ron pushed aside his slice of cake, seemingly unable to stomach another bite, and Mrs. Weasley sank back onto the bench with a strangled gasp.

"What?" Remus said sharply. "When?"

"The alarm was raised a little over three hours ago. But by the time the Aurors got there, they were gone."

"Was-was my father one of the ones who broke out?"

Everyone turned to look at Draco, who was waiting for an answer with a look of dread, his already pale face had gone completely colorless and his hands were clutched tightly into fists.

Kingsley hesitated, then slowly nodded. "Once he was released from his cell, he was among the group of Death Eater's leading the breakout. He killed seven guards in the fight."  
Draco inhaled sharply, Harry saw a glimmer of what looked like fear in his eyes, before he turned and marched up to the house without another word.

"Should I..." Mr. Weasley said uncertainly.

"I'll go talk to him," Harry said, already standing from his seat. "I won't be long."

He hurried back up to the Burrow and to their shared bedroom; Draco was sitting at the foot of Ron's bed, staring at his hands.

Harry settled down beside him, but remained silent, he wanted to give Draco time to sort through his, no doubt, chaotic thoughts. And so several long minutes passed with Draco contemplatively rolling his wand between his fingers and Harry sitting by his side, patiently waiting.

"He killed _seven _guards."

Harry looked over at his friend with a raised eyebrow, prompting him to elaborate further.

"He's been in Azkaban for over a year, he has to be tired, weak, hungry, but he still managed to muster up enough energy to take seven lives." Draco's grip tightened on his wand. "He didn't learn a damn thing."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked softly.

The blonde teen hesitated, lost in thought for a moment. "I guess I'd hoped that, while in Azkaban, my father might have had some time to...I don't know _reflect_," he said. "Think about the decisions he's made, namely the decision of joining Voldemort. I'd hoped that he'd realize that he had made the _wrong _decision and that that would prompt him to defect, like Mother did, so that...so that we could be a family again." Draco laughed bitterly and tossed his wand onto the lurid orange bedspread. "But I guess that won't be happening, he killed seven people, reformed men don't do that. He belongs with Voldemort."

"And where do you belong?

"With you," Draco said decisively. "I belong right here with you and the others, fighting for what's _right_. Which puts my father and me on opposite sides of the war. We may very well meet on the battlefield one day, and I may end up having to be the one who has to fight him. Who has to _kill _him."

Harry looked at his friend worriedly. "Do you think you're up for that?"

Draco didn't answer right away, taking a moment to remember all of the times his father had exhibited careless cruelty to both him and his mother, how he'd tarnished the Malfoy name associating with filth like the dark lord, made him fear for his and his mother's life. Then he considered how much _better_ his life would be without constantly living in the shadow cast by Lucius' misdeeds. "Hell, yeah."

* * *

Harry and a much calmer Draco returned to the party not long after their conversation, but the news of the breakout had effectively killed the mood, sending everyone off to their respective homes and beds much sooner than they'd anticipated.

"Are you all right, Draco?" Hermione, who had taken up the habit of lingering in Ron's room, talking with the others until the early hours of the morning, asked in concern.

"I'm all right. My father made his choice, there's nothing I can do about so I find no reason to lay awake at night obsessing over it."

"Would you look at that," Blaise said teasingly, "he _does _know how to use that brain of his."

"Shut up, prat," Draco said, chucking a pillow at the cackling Italian's head. "At least I have a brain, your head is full of nothing but a bit of lint."

"I think he's got a sickle or two up there as well," Harry said. "I hear them rattling around his skull sometimes."

"Oh, har har," Blaise stuck his tongue out at his laughing friends. "Really funny. While you guys are over here cackling like a pack of hyenas, I'm the only who noticed that Harry's bag has suddenly started glowing."

"It must be my dad," Harry reached over to the backpack he'd stored his most important belongings in and began rifling through its contents. Sure enough, his rune stone was glowing its familiar soft blue.

"Do you guys mind if he stops by for a bit?" Harry asked his friends holding up the stone for them to see.

"Of course not!" Hermione all but shouted, she was always eager to have the god around to pick his brain about Asgard, the physiology of gods, the similarities between all of the myths she'd read about and the actual reality of things, and other little thing she could think up.

After he'd retrieved confirmation from the others, he sent a pulse of magic into the stone, informing his father that it was safe to come over.

Loki must have been waiting close by as he arrived barely a minute after Harry had sent out to the signal.

"Well, doesn't this look cozy," he said, looking at the group of teens huddled on the floor in large, squashy sleeping bags.

"It's like sleeping on a cloud," Harry grinned, standing to accept the hug his father offered.

"Happy birthday, Haraldr," Loki said proudly. "You've grown far too quickly for my liking."

"Don't worry, I still have many more years ahead, I'm not grown just yet." Harry saw a flash of the same, unfamiliar emotion he'd witnessed dull Loki's eyes the day he'd left Privet Drive, but before he could get a read on it, it was gone.

"Happy birthday to you as well, Neville," Loki said to the still somewhat shy Gryffindor. "You turned seventeen yesterday, correct?"

Neville nodded bashfully. "I did, thank you."

"Think nothing of it. Now, I have something for you both."

Neville tried to protest that he needn't have gone through the trouble, but Loki waved aside his protests and handed both teens their gifts. Harry received a small, black box and Neville several sealed jars full of what looked like different assortment of seeds.

"Harry told me that you were interested in Herbology," Loki said to Neville. "So I thought it fitting to gather some seeds for you from Frigga's garden."

"These are from _Frigga's garden_?" Neville gasped, looking at the jars with a new level of awe. "These are all incredibly rare magical plants. Marbled cardamom, shade's rue, _assassin's nettle._ I don't-I don't even know what to do with these."

"I'm sure you'll figure something out," Loki said kindly. "I hear that you're quite talented with plants. Now your gift, Harry. Open it."

Harry obediently unlatched the small clasp holding the box closed, then flipped open the lid. Inside of the box was a thickly braided, silver cord, stronger than any Harry had ever seen before, with a wickedly sharp, ivory fang as long as his thumb hanging from the center.

"I crafted this myself," Loki said as he picked the necklace up and tied it around Harry's neck. "This is the first tooth Fenris lost when he was still just a pup strung on a cord braided from the hairs of Sleipnir's mane. I wanted you to have something from each of your siblings, but I was unable to get anything from Hela and Jormungandr before they were cast out. This was all I had."

"This is more than enough," Harry beamed. "Thank you."

Loki smiled and smoothed a hand over Harry's hair. "I know you wish to meet the rest of our family, hopefully this will be something you can hold onto until then."

"How is every one?"

Loki's smile faltered almost imperceptibly. "As well as can be expected," he said. "The Allfather is growing old, it won't be long before he falls into the Odinsleep. When he does Thor will become king and I will take on the role of his advisor."

"Don't you want to become king?" Hermione asked before slapping a hand over her mouth in horror, apparently under the impression that what she had just asked was horribly rude.

"Of course I do," Loki said, not at all offended, "but Odin will never choose me to be king, so I must content myself with the next best thing."

"Do you think when Uncle Thor becomes king…" Harry trailed off uncertainly.

"You'll be able to come to Asgard?" Loki finished for him. He paused thoughtfully for a moment. "My brother is like our father in many ways, he is a warrior first and foremost, he is loud, he is brash, and he loves women far too much to be healthy, but for all his faults, there is nothing more important to him than family. I cannot say for certain, but there is a strong possibility you will be able to come to Asgard when he is king. I will broach the subject after his coronation."

The smile Harry granted him with was blinding.

* * *

Bill and Fleur's wedding had been beautiful in its simplicity. It took place in the orchard in the Weasleys' backyard under a bright sun and a clear blue sky. There were only three people in the bridal party, two bridesmaids, Ginny and Gabrielle, both dressed in lovely gold dresses, and Charlie, who was looking slightly disgruntled over the fact that Mrs. Weasley had managed to corner him long enough to cut his shoulder length hair to a more "respectable" length. Fleur, who was stunning on any other day, was ethereal in a flowing white gown, and the goblin made tiara from Mrs. Weasley set upon her silvery curls. Mrs. Delacour and Weasley, who had warmed up to Fleur considerably when she realized that the part-veela truly was in love with her son, were both sobbing quietly into scraps of lace.

The entire service was fascinating, Harry had never been to a wedding, muggle or wizard, and was interested to see how things were conducted. The wizard overseeing the wedding said a few words about the strength of love and how it would always triumph over the encroaching darkness, then Bill and Fleur exchanged vows and finally a kiss. As golden balloons burst overhead, releasing birds of paradise and tiny golden bells, the wizard transformed the marquee into an open canopy supported by golden poles with a single wave of his wand.

Waiters appeared on all sides, bearing trays filled with various drinks and finger foods. Harry passed a glass of butterbeer to each of his friends before they weaved through the crowd to settle down at one of the tables set up on the edge of the dance floor. Luna arrived not long after, dressed in a set of eye-watering yellow robes and chatting happily about gnomes and opera singing as she sucked on her bleeding finger.

When a lively tune began playing she grabbed Harry's wrist and dragged him to the dance floor where she proceeded to lead him through a series of maneuvers he wasn't all too sure qualified as dance moves. They danced for nearly half an hour, but when Luna grew tired he swept a happily giggling Gabrielle onto the dance floor, then Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley, until, somehow, he ended up with one of Fleur's veela cousins.

Harry's French was only barely passable and Adeline's English was broken, but they managed to communicate with an eclectic mix of the two languages. But, in the end, the language barrier hardly mattered, the way she caressed his chest through the fabric of his robes and the subtle tightening of his hands on her hips said what their stilted words couldn't. They weren't seen for the rest of the evening.

* * *

Bill and Fleur left to their new home, Shell Cottage, directly after the wedding, the Delacours the day after, early in the morning. So Mrs. Weasley, who no longer had birthday parties, houseguests, and weddings to distract her turned her attention back to Harry and his friends and their imminent departure.

"I don't see why you can't train here," she said, flitting anxiously around the group as they set their things in front of the empty fireplace. "We have more than enough space out back. There's no need to go back to that dreary old place with only that mad house elf as company."

"We'll have each other for company, Mum," Ron said patiently. "And you can come to visit whenever you want."

"I wouldn't have to visit if you didn't leave in the first place."

"You'll hardly notice we're gone with the amount of times we'll be stopping by," Harry said. "I can assure you, by the end of the month you'll be quite sick of us."

"I doubt that," Mrs. Weasley sighed, but she gave each of the teens a rueful smile and a quick hug. "All right, I won't try to guilt you all into staying, but I'll still make it clear that I'm not happy with this."

You'll be all right, Mum," Ron said, accepting her hug. "We'll be seeing you tomorrow, at the Order meeting."

That seemed to cheer the woman up immensely. "Will you finally be telling us what this mission Dumbledore's sent you off on is?"

"That and a few other things," Neville admitted.

Mrs. Weasley nodded in satisfaction then stepped back to give them space to say goodbye to the others. Then, one by one, the teens walked through the floo, trunks in tow.

"Kreacher finished the last of the cleaning a while ago," Harry said, setting his trunk down in the study. "Since we're the only ones here, there should be more than enough rooms for each of us to have our own. Let's all get settled, choose whichever room you want, then meet up in an hour. I'll get Kreacher to whip us something up. Any requests?"

"How about a nice hot bowl of _slavery_," Hermione muttered trudging up the stairs, though her words were lacking any real heat.

"I'll see what he can do," Harry snorted.

The group of teenagers went off to find and set themselves up in their respective bedrooms. Harry, who already had a bedroom of his own, simply dropped his trunk at the foot of his bed and collapsed into his soft mattress.

It was odd being in Grimmauld Place without the rest of the Order. The house felt so empty without the sound of Sirius' trademark barking laughter, Mrs. Weasley yelling at the twins for whatever mischief they had gotten into, or even Lady Black's portrait spitting vile insults at any who passed. This quiet, almost oppressive atmosphere was so different from the lively mood two years previous, it was almost as if any happiness that may have lingered in the large house had been locked away until a time when it would have been better suited.

Harry shook himself from his depressing thoughts and sat up from his prone position, he called for Kreacher and, when the wrinkled old elf appeared, requested he make a simple dinner for Harry and his friends.

The house elf eagerly complied, happy to once again have a master to serve, which was what most likely prompted his overzealous to elf create a four course meal rather than the simple sandwich spread Harry had had in mind.

"That elf really outdid himself this time," Ron said, leaning back in his seat and patting his stomach contentedly after his third helping of strawberry rhubarb crumble.

"That elf's name is _Kreacher_," Hermione said sternly.

Ron waved her away carelessly, too used to her lectures take much offense. "Hey, Harry, I've been meaning to ask you something."

The dark haired teen froze in the act of trying to steal the last of Draco's dessert from his plate, "What?" he asked as Draco snorted and pushed his plate in front of Harry.

"Where did you disappear to last night? I couldn't find you anywhere."

"I was with Fleur's cousin, Adeline."

"The _veela?"_

"One of them, yeah."

"What were you doing with her?"

Harry arched a brow. "What do you think?"

Ron gaped incredulously. "You banged her?"

"I did."

"But she's a _veela_."

Harry grinned ferally. "I noticed."

"_Okay_," Draco cut in. "As fascinating as this conversation is, we have much more important things to discuss."

"Like what?" Harry asked.

"How we plan to do all of this. How are we going to teach ourselves how to fight Voldemort and his followers? They have decades of experience on us."

"We're going to rest up tonight and tomorrow," Harry explained, "then, the day after, we're going to jump right in. I've talked to Moody, Kingsley, and Remus and they're all willing to train us. They also agreed to talk to some of the other Order members to help out, but only after we tell them why we need to learn some of the things I requested."

"Tomorrow's meeting will take care of that," Blaise said.

"Bill said he'd be willing to teach us the basics of warding," Ron piped in. "Apparently a large part of curse breaking is being able to put up the wards you're supposed to be tearing down."

"Do you know what and when your dad will be teaching us?" Hermione asked Harry. "And how will he teach us without being spotted by the others?"

Harry shrugged. "He hasn't given me too much information yet, expect it to be brutal though. As for when and how, he'll probably come later in the night and on our days off, when nobody's around."

"Brilliant," Ron muttered. "we're not going to have any free time."

"Free time to do what?" Hermione asked. "Play exploding snap, or a game of Quidditch? We need to spend every waking moment training, we won't last against Voldemort and the Death Eaters for a second otherwise."

"Not _every _waking moment," Neville refuted. "We need to have some free time or we'll work ourselves to death. What good would be to the Order six feet under?"

"We'll work something out when they come 'round tomorrow," Harry said. "And we can talk to my dad the next time he visits. We should have a few hours to rest every day, and a full day off once a week."

"That sounds like a good plan," Hermione conceded sheepishly.

"How long will we be training?" Draco asked.

"Until the war is over, I suppose," Harry said. "We have to keep our skills up if we want to survive to see the end."

"Sounds exhausting," Blaise sighed.

"It probably is," Draco agreed. "But we're here and we agreed to do this, it's too late to back out now."

The others murmured solemnly in agreement, then went back to discussing plans for the foreseeable future. Only when it was nearing four in the morning did they disband to trudge wearily up the stairs and to their beds.

* * *

Severus Snape had never been more exhausted in his life, and that was saying something considering this was a man who could, with a bit of aid from copious cups of coffee spiked with a generous amount of firewhiskey, survive a full week without sleep.

He had been a resident of the filthy, stinking cesspit that had once been Malfoy Manor for almost a month now, plotting the fall of the Ministry and Hogwarts with the Dark Lord and Yaxley. The only time he was permitted to leave was when he needed to collect some obscure ingredient for one of the many potions he had been commissioned to brew, or when he needed to make an appearance before one of his colleagues. But these excursions were wasted, in his opinions, as he was unable to take the rare chance he was in contact with a member of the Order to warn them about what the Dark Lord had planned.

Voldemort had put both him and Yaxley under a series of privacy and selective silencing spells to prevent either of them from saying a word about their plans to anyone but those already involved.

"We'll have to take the Ministry first," Yaxley said as he poured over the numerous parchments littered across the long dining room table. "That way there will be no one to come to the school's defense when we attack."

"Other than those who reside in the castle," Snape said driyly.

Yaxley scoffed, "Children and school teachers. They pose no threat to us."

"You would do well not to underestimate those _children and school teachers_," Snape warned. "They can be quite formidable if given a reason to be. You forget what happened to Umbridge, to Bellatrix."

Yaxley waved his warning off. "Potter's doing. The Dark Lord will deal with him once and for all once the school is ours."

"He will put up a fight, as will his friends and professors."

"And they will be killed."

"The Death Eaters will not escape unscathed."

Yaxley's eyes narrowed. "Be careful what you say, Severus. You wouldn't want someone to mistake them for faltering loyalty."

"Make no _mistake_," Severus said dangerously, "my loyalties have not faltered, nor will they ever. I have chosen my side and I do not intend to change it now."

Yaxley studied Severus intently for several seconds. "Good," he said, finally turning back to his parchment. "Make sure it remains that way."

Severus barely restrained from snarling at the man. "Do you not have anything better to do than entertain nonsensical ideas of my straying allegiances?"

"Of course."

And not another word was spoken.

* * *

Harry was strung tight with nerves as he and his friends silently waited for the Order members to file into the room. They had contacted the thirteen wizards and witches the night before, requesting their presence for an informal Order meeting the following day. Each of the members agreed to be there at the scheduled time, even Snape who had spent the majority of his time since Dumbledore's death locked away in his personal quarters. According to McGonagall he only ventured out once or twice every few weeks, looking more drawn and ill each time.

Harry and the others had been up until the early hours of the morning deciding on how the meeting should go. The group of teenagers had planned for all possible outcomes, they had never been more ready for anything their entire lives (except maybe for OWLs), but that didn't stop them from being nervous. It was only now, when they were faced with the thirteen seasoned Order members, did they fully grasp what a huge task they were about to take on.

When everyone was comfortably seated around the kitchen table, Harry sat a bit straighter in his seat and cleared his throat. "All right," he said with more confidence than he was truly feeling. "We have a lot that needs to be discussed today, so I'm not going to waste any time with idle pleasantries and such. Dumbledore left me with a mission the night he died. A mission that will allow us to eventually defeat Voldemort, for good. I entrusted the knowledge of this mission to my friends and now we're entrusting it to you all."

The thirteen Order members' interest was piqued immediately.

"What's the mission?" Tonks asked.

Harry and his friends all exchanged meaningful glances before Harry spoke up once again. "Headmaster Dumbledore, in all of his dubious wisdom, managed to figure out the one thing Voldemort feared above anything else: death. Voldemort is terrified of the thought of dying, of leaving everything he murdered, and tortured, and terrorized for to be forgotten. It was something he'd always feared, even before his name was as infamous as it is today. So he, at the mere age of sixteen, began looking into forms of immortality and, thanks to the unwitting aid of Professor Slughorn, he found one. Horcruxes."

Moody and Snape seemed to be the only members of the Order to know what Horcruxes were as both were sporting suitably horrified expressions.

"For those of you who don't know, Horcruxes are objects that are used to hold a portion of a person's soul. They usually hold some sort of significant value to their creator, and are near indestructible, as long as a wizard has a Horcrux his body can be completely destroyed, but his soul will survive. All the soul needs is a vessel and it can continue living on."

"And Voldemort has one of these Horcruxes?" McGonagall asked horrified.

"No," Blaise said. "He has seven. Hidden all over the country."

"Merlin help us."

"_But_," Harry said before panic could set in, "we've managed to destroy two, we have one in our possession, we know where another is, and we have an idea of what two others could be."

"So that leaves one more," Flitwick said.

"Exactly."

"What are the Horcruxes you already know of?" Bill asked.

"The first Horcrux destroyed was Tom Riddle's diary," Hermione said. "The one that possessed Ginny in her first year."

"That was a piece of You-Know-Who's soul?" whispered Mrs. Weasley, pale-faced with horror.

"Unfortunately, but Harry took care of it. The next Horcrux destroyed was a ring that belonged to Voldemort's maternal family, thanks to Dumbledore, but he was cursed by the some of the protections put on it."

"We have the third Horcrux in our possession," Draco continued for Hermione. "A locket that once belonged to Salazar Slytherin."

Harry retrieved a heavily warded box from beneath his seat and placed it on the table. "This is why the headmaster and I left the school the night he died," he said as he flipped the lid open to reveal the locket inside. "We were retrieving the locket. One of the protections around the Horcrux was a potion that couldn't be vanished, parted, our poured, the only way to get past it was to drink it. The headmaster chose to do it, but it weakened him and allowed the curse his body had been fighting for almost a year to gain the upper hand. That's what killed him."

"Why hasn't that thing been destroyed yet?" Moody asked, eyeing the locket with every last ounce of disgust he could muster.

"We wanted to do it in a safe place," Neville said. "We have no idea what sort of protections are around the locket, it wouldn't do for us to be interrupted while in the middle of breaking through them."

"The rest of our knowledge is purely speculation, but we're almost certain it's correct," Harry said. "We believe Voldemort's other Horcruxes to be his snake, Nagini, he acquired her sometime before our fourth year. And Helga Hufflepuff's cup. And we suspect that the sixth Horcrux is something of Ravenclaw's, he already has something of Hufflepuff's and Slytherin's so it shouldn't be too much of a stretch to believe that he has something else of the founders. The seventh and final soul fragment resides in Voldemort's body, when he dies, it will die with him."

"And we have to destroy all of them before Voldemort can be defeated?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"Pretty much, yeah."

"All of this information seems pretty spot on," Moody said. "But I don't understand why Dumbledore left _you _this mission, Potter. Sure you've defeated Voldemort once before, the press has even taken to calling you the Chosen One, but those are just titles, rumors. Dumbledore wouldn't entrust something so important to you because of a few rumors."

Harry sighed, he had been expecting this issue to arise, he and his friends had discussed how much they should reveal when it inevitably did. That still didn't mean he was happy addressing the issue. "He entrusted this mission to me because all of this 'Chosen One' nonsense isn't complete rubbish. I'm the only one who can kill Voldemort," he said bluntly. "Simply put, seventeen years ago a prophecy was made stating that only I can kill Voldemort and only Voldemort can kill me: '_One must die at the hand of the other_', I guess the Horcrux hunt is supposed to be something of precursor to that."

"Why didn't he tell the Order about the Horcruxes though?" Tonks asked. "Surely things could have gone a lot smoother if he'd involved the rest of us from the beginning?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't try to fool myself into believing I understood how the headmaster's mind worked. Maybe he planned to include the rest of the Order sometime this summer, maybe he was just waiting for the right time to inform you all. But he's dead now, there's no point in pondering all of the could've, would've, and should'ves."

"Well said, Harry-kins," George and Fred agreed enthusiastically.

"Now that that's out in the open, are there any more secrets you're keeping from us?" Mrs. Weasley asked, eyeing the group of teenagers shrewdly as if she could discern any other secrets they may be keeping through the power of her stare alone.

Harry and his friends exchanged glances, one secret immediately coming to mind, but they had all agreed the night before that that wasn't something the Order needed to know just yet.

"There are a few," Ron admitted "but they're not our secrets to tell, they're personal and we'd need special permission to even consider revealing them."

The Weasley matriarch looked dissatisfied with this answer, but she didn't push the matter. "Fine, I understand," she said. "Is there anything else we need to discuss, or can I finally fix you lot a proper meal?"

"We have a few more things to take care of then the kitchen will be all yours, Mum," Ron said.

"Well then make it quick."

"All right, first things first," Neville said. "We've already spoken with a few of you all about this, but we'd like to get as many Order members in on this as we can. We've decided that we won't be returning to Hogwarts next year, the hunt for the remaining Horcruxes is much more important. Plus, we believe that with the headmaster's death Voldemort we'll become bolder in his attacks, we intend to be among the people fighting him and his Death Eaters."

This immediately brought up a round of protest from nearly every adult in the room, each one had the same argument, claiming that they were too young, that they weren't experienced enough to be fighting Death Eaters.

Harry shut them down before they could make much headway.

"Have you all forgotten already that I'm the _only_ one who can kill Voldemort?" he said over the clamor of protests. "You lot can shoot the deadliest spells and curses you know at him until you're blue in the face, but it wouldn't do any good because of that damned prophecy. I have to be the one to do it. Now, call me crazy, but when it's time for me to face him once and for all I want to be relying on more than sheer, dumb luck to help me kill him. If I were to go against Voldemort right now, my arsenal of spells would leave me woefully unprepared, I can't defeat him with a stunner, a _disarmer _isn't going to win this war. I need experience, I need to know what a _real _battle is like, so that when it's time for that final showdown I can trust myself not to be distracted by the chaos that is more than likely going to be raging all around us.

"As for the others, well they're all legally adults now, they have a right to make their own choices. Besides, I would feel a lot more comfortable if I had them fighting alongside me, I know I can trust them with my life. We intend to fight with or without your permission, but things would go a lot easier if we had it. Don't you all agree?"

There were reluctant nods around the table.

"Brilliant. Now, there's one last thing that needs to be done." Harry retrieved the warded box from where it had been replaced beneath his seat. "We have a Horcrux that needs to be destroyed."

The Order members tensed up, their eyes unconsciously locked onto the box.

"How does one destroy a Horcrux?"

"The object containing the soul fragment, in this case the locket, needs to be destroyed beyond magical or muggle repair," Hermione said. "There are very few things that can do that sort of damage."

"Luckily, we have one such thing," Harry said, unsheathing his dagger.

"A knife?" Charlie asked. "I've got plenty of those."

"Not just any knife." Harry's eyes unconsciously flickered to first Mrs. and Mrs. Weasley, then McGonagall, all three of them seemed to recognize the dagger, though he didn't think any of them realized its value just yet. "One substance that can destroy a Horcrux for good is basilisk venom. Long story short, I managed to kill a basilisk with this knife, and thanks to certain magical properties, it imbibed the venom. Making this the perfect Horcrux destroyer."

"I'm sorry," Tonks said. "Did you say you _killed _a _basilisk?_"

Harry waved her question away casually. "That hardly matters at the moment."

"Of course it doesn't," she muttered incredulously.

"So," Ron said, "who wants to kill the Horcrux?"

"I think Harry should do it." Draco said. "He did most of the work involved in finding it."

Harry lifted the Horcrux from its nest and examined it closely. The thing was alive, even now he could feel it scuttling over his mental defenses like a wily spider, trying to find a breach it could squeeze its way through, it wouldn't find any, but he wasn't going to give it the chance to find that out itself. "I don't think I can just stab it," he said, eyeing the rounded edges. "There are all sorts of enchantments on this thing, the knife would just slip and end up stabbing a hole through the table. I'm going to have to open it."

"But we tried that already," Blaise said. "We've shot every unlocking spell in the book at it, but that thing refuses to budge."

"There's still one thing we haven't tried yet," Harry said.

"Really? Well please, enlighten us as to what that one thing is."

"This is a piece of Voldemort's _soul_," he explained, "he would have made sure that no ordinary spell could open this locket, not any spell as a matter of fact. He would have utilized a skill that he misguidedly believed was possessed by none but him."

"I don't understand," Hermione said.

"What is one thing, one skill, Salazar Slytherin, Voldemort, and I all share."

"Of course," Draco gasped. "It's so simple, it would have been a brilliant idea..."

"If I couldn't do it as well," Harry agreed.

"Do _what_?" Remus asked.

Harry grinned at him. "Try not to be too alarmed," he said as he set the locket on the table. He stared at the serpentine like S curled along the surface of the locket, easily visualizing it as a small snake curling in on itself. "_Open_."

He didn't have time to register the looks of shock the Order members sported when the word came out in a serpentine hiss, his attention was focused on the locket which had swung open with a soft _click._

Behind the glass windows on either side, dark eyes blinked up at him. Tom Riddle's eyes, before countless dark rituals had changed them to the crimson, slit pupils he was known for today.

Harry raised his dagger, prepared to stab it through, when a voice hissed from the Horcrux.

"_I have seen your heart, and it is mine."_

"What the hell?" Harry heard Draco whisper somewhere to his left. He spared the blonde a quick glance, before looking back at the locket, just in time to see a grotesque lump bubble from the window, out of one of the eyes. It writhed and twisted and grew until it had taken on a perverted parody of his father's form, but when it spoke it was Voldemort's voice that came from his mouth.

"_Son of mischief and lies, you truly live up to your father's reputation,"_ Riddle-Loki hissed_. "How many know the secrets you've been keeping, the fears you've been harboring in your heart?_"

Harry's hand convulsively tightened around the dagger.

"_You and I are just alike. We're both _monsters_, Harry. You know it, you've always known it, perhaps that is why you have so foolishly tried to ignore what has always been inevitable."_

"Harry?" Hermione whispered tentatively.

"_That fear will continue to rot, it will fester and curdle, it will take over you, become all of what you are, until there is nothing left but _me_."_

The fine trance that had fallen over Harry, locking him in place, snapped. The dagger slashed through the air and stabbed into the Horcrux, there was a long, drawn out scream, much like the one the diary had given off all those years ago, and then silence.

The broken remains of the locket, now devoid of a soul fragment, sat on the table, smoking slightly.

"What the _hell _was that," Draco finally said, breaking the heavy silence.

"_That_ was Voldemort," Harry laughed breathlessly. "Just a tiny bit of him, but Voldemort nonetheless. He's always been absurdly talented at dragging out a person's deepest secrets and twisting them to suit his purposes."

"But who was that man?" Remus said. "And what was it he was saying?"

"That man..." Harry hesitated unsure of how to continue. "Well, he's our final secret, we'll explain eventually, but not now...not yet."

Remus nodded his understanding.

"As for what he was saying..." Harry's brow furrowed, he knew exactly what secret, what fear Voldemort's Horcrux had been taunting him with, but that was a secret not even his father was privy to. He couldn't bring himself to tell his friends and family now, so he settled for something of a half-truth. "It's as I said, Voldemort has always been good at taking things of little consequence and twisting it until it becomes something he can use against you. He was goading me with an old fear of mine, nothing of importance."

"What was it?" Moody asked suspiciously.

"_Nothing of importance_," Harry repeatedly stiffly.

"All right," Mrs. Weasley cut in before Moody could try again, "that was our final order of business, I believe I was promised the kitchen afterwards. All of you are staying for dinner, of course." Snape tried to protest but she glared him down. "You're looking much too thin for my liking, Severus," she said sternly. "Why I'm sure a good gust of wind could knock you over, now _sit back down_ while I whip us up something to eat."

* * *

After Mrs. Weasley had forced everyone to eat second, third, and, in Snape's case, fourth helpings of lunch she and the others lingered just long enough to straighten up a bit before Mrs. Weasley herded her brood through the Floo with Flitwick, McGonagall, and a slightly green Snape following not far behind.. Moody, Tonks, Kingsley, Bill, and Remus, however remained behind to work out a plan for their training.

"We didn't want to talk about this in front of Mum and some of the others for a reason," Ron told the assembled adults. "She already isn't pleased with us for leaving, if she found out what we wanted to do..."

"What is it you want to do?" Bill asked curiously.

"We don't want to just learn how to temporarily down and opponent," Hermione said bluntly, "we needto learn how to-to _kill._"

Bill, Remus, Tonks, and Kingsley looked astonished while Moody simply seemed amused by her declaration.

"You want to learn how to kill, girlie? Why?"

Hermione bristled at the grizzled ex-Auror's somewhat mocking tone. "Because the moment they're stunned their comrades revives them," she said, "because when we disarm them they just pluck a new wand off of the closest corpse, because when I'm facing a Death Eater they're going to be going for the kill, they won't be any holding back, I don't intend to either."

"You don't have the stomach for it," Moody said, for once both of his eyes were moving in tandem, examining each of the straight backed teens intensely. "None of you do."

"You don't know what we've done," Harry said coldly. "Or what we're capable of. If you won't teach us, then we'll simply have to find someone else to do it."

"Who's going to teach a bunch of kids how to kill?"

"People are willing to do anything for the right price."

"Harry," Remus interjected before Moody could retort. "Are you sure about this? What you're asking..."

"We're sure," Neville said firmly. "We won't be able to win this war if we continue to pull our punches. It's time the light started giving just as good as we get."

A menacing grin spread across Moody's face. "All right then, as long as you know what you're asking for."

* * *

Harry, Ron, Draco, Neville, Hermione, and Blaise stood side by side along the wall of one of the lesser used rooms on the bottom floor of Grimmauld Place, cleared out and specially warded for their training. Each was facing a dummy much like the one they'd used during their very first T.A. lesson, their wands were drawn and at the ready. Tonks, Kingsley, and Moody, who had been assigned to teach them their first day of training, were facing their six students, serious expressions on their faces.

"You said you want to learn to fight," Moody said calmly. "To kill. To make sure those Death Eater bastards don't ever get back up. I made it very clear that I didn't believe you had the stomach to kill, I still don't, but I'm going to teach you anyway. We won't be going easy on any of you, you're getting exactly what you asked for. Is that clear?"

Harry and his friends nodded.

"Good. Let's begin."

Kingsley took a step forward, easily taking over for Moody. "The first thing you need to understand," he said, "is that a vast majority of the spells, hexes, and curses we know can be used to kill. There are some, like the Killing Curse, that were designed specifically for that purpose, but the most basic of spells can be twisted to kill a man. The Tickling Charm, for instance, if a person is held under it for too long they can asphyxiate and die, it's a very effective form of torture as well.

"We'll be teaching you how to utilize both forms, starting with a basic, though not completely harmless spell. The Severing Charm is usually used to trim fabric and the like, but if enough power is put behind it, it could easily kill someone." Kingsley drew his wand. "Observe. _Diffindo_."

The bright yellow spell sliced through the air and cut one of the dummies head clean from its shoulders. "Turning this spell into something a bit more deadly is all a matter of control, you'll need to learn to channel your magic. Once you're able to control how much magic you channel, you'll be able to perform this spell easy."

Harry and his friends exchanged amused glances, something the three Aurors picked up on immediately.

"What's so funny?" Moody asked.

"It's nothing..." Neville said. "It's just that's the same thing we taught our students last year in the T.A."

"The illegal defense group you formed in your fifth year?" Tonks asked. "Dumbledore told us all about it earlier this year, but he didn't mention that you were that advanced. We figured you were teaching basic spells like stunners and leg-lockers.

"That was for the first levels," Ron said, "and only during their first few lessons, as a sort of starter course"

"All right then," Tonks said. "You know how to channel your magic?" She and the two other Aurors took a step back, out of the line of fire. "Impress us."

The six teens shrugged and raised their wands, one by one they shot off the simple severing charm, each decapitated the dummies effortlessly.

"Easy as pie," Hermione murmured.

Moody, Kingsley, and Tonks exchanged glances.

"Impressed?" Blaise grinned.

"We may have to change our lesson plans a bit," Kingsley said. "We assumed it would take you at least three lessons before you managed to learn how to properly channel your magic."

"What did you plan on doing after that?" Draco asked.

"Start with basic spells, then slowly progress until you mastered the Auror level spells." Kingsley explained. "We'll have to have to gauge your skills before we can go any further."

"Sounds all right to us,"

"All right then," Moody said, "wands at the ready.

For the next two hours Harry, Ron, Draco, Neville, Hermione, and Blaise were tested thoroughly by the three Aurors, they were ordered to cast all sorts of spells ranging from a simple Lumos to a rather vicious, borderline dark bone crushing hex. Sometimes they were made to cast the spells wordlessly, and at one point even wandlessly, and throughout the entire assessment Kingsley, Tonks, and Moody stood along the wall making notes with conjured pads and pens and occasionally quietly commenting to each other.

By the time the lesson was over Harry and his friends were exhausted, but fairly confident that they had more than proved themselves to the Aurors. Even Moody, who had been openly skeptical since they had first asked for lessons, was looking mildly impressed.

"Great job you guys," Tonks said as she waved her wand and repaired the mutilated practice dummies. "We need to sit down and discuss a few things with Remus and Bill, reorder our lesson plan, but you can expect to hear from us in a few days."

"Sounds good."

Momentarily ignoring his exhaustion, Harry forced himself from his sinfully comfortable spot on the floor and wearily showed his three guests out.

"Merlin, I'm exhausted," he groaned, once again collapsing on the floor after the three adults had departed.

"Don't get too comfortable," Hermione said, checking her watching. "Your father is due in less than an hour."

"That's more than enough time to take a nap," Draco said, resting his head on Harry's stomach and his legs on Ron's lap. He closed his eyes, prepared to catch as much sleep as he could before their next lesson only to let out a whine of protest when Hermione yanked him to his feet before moving on to force the others up.

"No," she said sternly. "We need to get some food into our systems, restore our energy before Harry's dad arrives. Now move it."

"All right then, _Mum_," Ron snorted. "To the kitchen you useless layabouts!"

* * *

The six teenagers barely had time to devour the glorious sandwiches Kreacher prepared for them before Loki arrived. He exchanged quick greetings with his son and his friends before dragging them right back to the training room and setting the six dummies back up in the middle of the floor.

"It seems as though the wizards you have sought help from have decided to teach you how to defend yourself through purely magical means," Loki said. "That is good, you'll need to hone your abilities into the weapons they were meant to be, but you cannot rely solely on magic.

"Say you are in the field, the battle is brutal and escape is improbable. You've lost your wand or maybe you've overtaxed yourself and depleted your core or perhaps your opponent is simply too skilled with wand. For whatever reason you no longer have access to your magic. What do you do?"

"We fight our way out, the muggle way," Neville said.

"Exactly," Loki beamed. "Most of these Death Eaters are pureblood, half-bloods at the very least, very few of them are skilled in the art of hand to hand combat, they wouldn't want to sully themselves fighting like barbarians. But hand-to-hand can be just as effective, just as deadly as any curse."

Loki walked along the length of the room until he was standing at the end of the line of six stationary dummies; he paused for a fraction of a second before snapping into motion. He moved with a fluid grace down the line, his arms and legs swung in sharp arcs, meeting their marks with dull thuds and sickening cracks. The heel of his palm slammed into one dummies' nose, setting off a fountain of enchanted blood and sending the dummy crashing to the ground, another had its head wrenched brutally to the side, the cracking of its neck was horrifyingly loud, another took a blow to its throat that sent it flying, another took a fatal kick to the back. Not even a full minute passed before all six dummies were sprawled in a broken heap on the floor, Loki stood amidst them not even slightly out of breath.

"It takes very little effort to kill a man," he said. "Humans are fragile, all it takes is one well aimed blow and it's over." Loki waved his hand and the dummies sprung back into place, once more "alive" and whole. "I'll begin by teaching you the most efficient way to kill a person with your bare hands. Once you're comfortable with the moves, I'll begin teaching you how to transition from one move to another without wasting any movements as that is essential. Every move you make has to have a purpose. Don't waste a single second adding a fancy twist to your wrist or a decorative twirl to your kick, every second counts in battle."

His students nodded, eagerly soaking in the knowledge.

"The first move is a simple heel of the palm to the nasion, the front nasal bone, hit it with enough force and you'll kill your adversary," Loki said. "Because the head instinctually dips down during a fight, you need to strike with an upward swing."

After doing a quick demonstration on one of the dummies, he stood back and allowed his students to practice the move.

"The next move is a punch to the throat. If done correctly, it can cause asphyxiation and eventually death."

The lesson continued on a similar vein, Loki quickly yet concisely explained each move and the damage it could cause then demonstrated before allowing the teens to try the moves themselves.

By the end of the lesson their hands were red and raw from the repeated blows to the hard dummies, but the six teenagers were all wildly pleased with their progress.

"Very well done," Loki commended examining Hermione's dummy. "Continue practicing during any free time you may have, but do refrain from performing any moves you learned on each other. We wouldn't want any unfortunate accidents."

"Not even if Ron attempts to steal my treacle tart again?" Harry asked, eyeing his redheaded friend assessingly.

"Not even then."

"Damn."

* * *

Never before had Harry, Hermione, Blaise, Ron, Neville, and Draco worked as hard as they did the summer before what would have been their seventh year. Six days a week they rose even before the sun did and went through a series of exercises Loki prescribed to them, meant to strengthen both their minds and their bodies. Loki had been teaching Harry how to defend himself without the use of magic for years now, though never quite to this degree, so he could usually be found leading the exercises, aiding his friends when they faltered.

Once those were through they had just enough time to grab a quick breakfast before members of the Order arrived to begin their lessons. After their very first session with them, Moody, Kingsley, and Tonks completely scrapped the lesson plan they had previously devised and created a new one more suited to the teens' abilities. Several more Order members and even a few Hogwart's professors had volunteered to help with their training, Madam Pomfrey even stopped by every few days to teach them the basics of healing. Surprisingly, Neville took to healing like a duck to water and was thus appointed the teams "official battlefield healer".

Because of the multitude of Order members willing to teach them, they usually had up to three lessons a day, not including the physical combat training they received from Loki later in the evening.

And all of their hard work was beginning to pay off, by late August Harry and his friends were on their way to becoming formidable opponents. Eight times out of ten, they were able to beat their tutors in mock duels.

"I have something special for you lot today," Bill said the moment he stepped through the Floo, right on time for the first lesson of the day.

"Why do I not like the sound of that," Draco muttered.

"Oh trust me," the oldest Weasley grinned. "You're going to love this." He reached into the satchel hanging from his shoulder and produced a multi-faceted, glass sphere.

"A crystal ball?" Ron asked. "Hate to tell you this Bill, but Nev and I failed Divination and the others didn't even bother taking it."

"It's not a crystal ball, prat," Bill snorted, "it's a reality simulator, one of the best out there I might add."

"A reality simulator?" Harry asked, curiously eyeing the sphere.

"It simulates reality," Bill said, earning a round of disgruntled glares from the teens. "Say for instance I wanted to be on a beach, pure white sand, clear blue water, cloudless sky, the whole nine yards, this little orb could make me believe I was really there."

"Really?" Hermione's eyes were bright with curiosity. "Where were you even able to find something like this?"

"You can find these in almost any specialty shop in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, Gamble and Japes has a large supply of them. But those are usually limited to one sort of reality, premade and stored on the sphere. But this one," Bill tossed the orb lightly, "allows you to create your own reality. They're incredibly rare and ridiculously expensive, luckily Gringotts so happens to have a large supply of them on hand and I, as one of the goblins' valued curse breakers, have full access to them."

"Wicked," Ron breathed. "What are we going to be using it for?"

"I created a simulation of what a real battle with You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters will be like. It'll give you guys an idea on what to expect as well as help you learn how to work as a unit when it's time for the real thing."

"This is brilliant," Blaise exclaimed.

Bill grinned smugly. "I know. The simulation is something like a very vivid dream, you could be severely injured in the simulation but when you wake up you'll be completely unharmed."

"How do we wake up?" Neville asked.

"For the simulation I created, there's only two ways to get out. Either you kill You-Know-Who and all of his Death Eaters or you die."

"Fun."

"So are you guys ready to do this?" Bill grinned.

"Of course," Hermione said excitedly. "How do we enter the simulation?"

"Just touch the orb, the magic stored in it will do the rest."

"All right then," Harry said, reaching out for the small sphere. "Here goes nothing."

When he touched the surprisingly warm glass there was a moment where nothing happened, then suddenly he was being yanked off of his feet and through a swirling tunnel of air. When he landed none too gracefully he was in a bustling town, seemingly untouched by the approaching war. Five consecutive thumps behind him alerted him to his friend's arrival.

"Where are we?" Ron asked, stepping up to Harry's side.

"Muggle town from the looks of it," Draco said, examining one of the storefronts.

"What are we supposed to do here?"

Harry looked around suspiciously. "My guess is that the Death Eaters are about to pay this town a surprise visit."

"Fantastic," Neville muttered.

"We need a strategy," Hermione said. "Harry?"

The dark haired teen blinked in surprise. "Me?" he asked when all of his friends turned expectant gazes on him. "Why me?"

"It's just like the T.A." Hermione explained patiently. "We need an established leader, someone to look to for instruction when the going gets tough. You're the best for that job."

"You all agree with this?" Harry asked his other friends, checking for any hint of discontent. But there was none, they all nodded and voiced their agreement. "All right then. When the Death Eaters hit they're going to hit hard and fast right in the center of the town, where there's the most activity. That's where we need to focus most of our attention.

"Hermione and Blaise, you two have the best accuracy, especially from afar, I want you to find some higher ground and pick off Death Eaters from a distance, pick off any stragglers. I'd recommend that bell tower at the end of the street and the book store. The rest of us will be on the ground engaging the Death Eater's hand to hand. Ron and Neville, stick to the outer perimeter of the battle, make sure the muggles get to safety, Blaise and Hermione will cover you. Draco and I will be in the thick of things, join us when the muggles are safe."

"Sounds good," Ron said.

"Great. All right, let's move. Try to blend in with the crowd until the attacks."

The six teens exchanged nervous grins before splitting up. Harry insinuated himself into a group loitering outside of what looked to be a pet shop and prepared to bide his time. A young girl with long dirty blonde hair and her two front teeth missing grinned up at him. She was hugging what he first thought to be a stuffed animal but soon realized was real to her chest. Judging from the long ears and hind legs the silvery animal was a hare rather than a rabbit, an odd choice for a pet.

He smiled when the girl happily introduced herself as Selena and her pet as Harry the Hare and began prattling about how much fun she and her new pet were going to have when they got home. Harry nodded and tried to seem at least somewhat invested in the conversation even as he scanned the crowd, waiting tensely for the Death Eaters to arrive.

He was almost relieved when the first explosion rocked the ground and sharp cracks filled the air, signaling the Death Eaters' arrival.

The muggles cried out and ducked for cover. They were surprised and maybe a bit frightened by the explosion and sudden appearance of these strange, masked men, but they were not yet aware of the danger they were in. Though he suspected they began to get an idea of it when the Death Eaters began shooting spells in their direction. Harry managed to throw up a protective shield just in time to protect himself and the muggles cowering around him from the brunt of them.

"Get out of here," he shouted once the spell fire had subsided. "Get out now or you'll be killed!"

He didn't wait around long enough to see if Selena and the other muggles heeded his warning, he jumped into the sea of screaming muggles and laughing Death Eaters and began to fight. His wand sparked with furious fire as he cut down the Death Eaters in droves, he used everything he'd learned over the past few weeks as well as the advanced strength and speed his heritage granted him to duck and dodge, to punch and kick, to curse and kill. But it seemed as if every Death Eater he downed five more took their place, like some demented version of a hydra. He was tiring and it didn't seem as if there was an end to the sea of Death Eaters.

Over the din of the battle Harry heard a familiar voice shout, "Heads up!" he ducked just in time to avoid a bright blue spell that punched a hole straight through a Death Eaters chest. He chanced a quick, grateful glance in Blaise's direction before returning to the fight.

Sometime during the mad battle he noticed that he was now fighting alongside Draco. They were both efficiently cutting down any Death Eater that dared approached while protecting each other's backs. They made a formidable team.

Which is why it came as a surprise to him when Draco let out a shout of surprise and slammed into his back. He spun around just in time to see his friend get hit with a second curse before disappearing altogether. Assuming that this meant he'd died and been awakened from the false reality, Harry cursed viciously and hit the Death Eater who had "killed" his friend with a spell that shut down his vital organs.

"There's too many of them!" Ron shouted as Neville was hit by a spell and disappeared immediately after. "We need to do something!"

Harry glanced around frantically, most of the muggles had evacuated the area but some were cowering behind cars and in doorways. With a pang he recognized Selena, huddled in her father's embrace with Harry the Hare clutched tightly to her chest. The little animal was squirming to free itself, obviously not appreciating her suffocating grasp, it finally managed to dart out of her arms and directly into the path of a bone crushing hex.

"Protect the muggles," he told Ron, gesturing toward Selena and her family. "I've got this."

"What?"

"Go on, you might want to get out of the way."

Ron frowned dubiously, but began cutting a path through the Death Eaters in the direction of the hiding muggles.

Once Harry was certain he was out of harm's way he swung his arm in a wide arc, a beam of pure energy shot from the tip, mowing down Death Eaters indiscriminately and digging deep trenches into the ground. In seconds the Death Eater hoard was cut down, all that remained were severed limbs and deep trenches dug into the earth.

Before the full force of his magical exhaustion could hit him, Harry was once again yanked from his feet and snapped back to consciousness. He and Ron were sprawled unceremoniously on the floor while Bill, Hermione, Blaise, Neville, and Draco were seated around the table.

"Were we the only ones who survived to the end?" Harry asked, climbing to his feet and stretching the tight muscles in his back.

"Blaise and I died only a few minutes ago, the Death Eaters collapsed our perches," Hermione said.

Ron grinned smugly. "That's tons better than Draco, he was the first to die."

"Oh shut up Weasley," Draco pouted. "I took that curse for Harry, if it wasn't for me he'd be dead."

"Good thing he didn't, he saved my arse," Ron said. "What was that you did, anyway?" he asked Harry. "And why didn't you do it earlier?"

"I channeled my magic through my wand," Harry explained. "I didn't do it earlier because it can only take down a few dozen Death Eaters before it practically drains my core, I wanted to save it until we really needed it."

"Well it was brilliant," Blaise said. "We saw everything through the orb, you killed those Death Eaters in seconds."

"You all did great," Bill said. "Especially for your first time in battle. Don't worry too much about dying, it's very unlikely you'll be facing that many Death Eaters without backup from the Order, though of course we'll still teach you how to hold your own long enough to get away, just in case. Do you all know how to apparate?"

"More or less," Hermione said. "Most of us took lessons last year and Remus has been helping us perfect it."

"Good," Bill nodded. "Next week I'll start you on some basic curse breaking, teach you how to dismantle wards like anti-apparition and portkey."

"Moody plans on starting us on chain casting next week and Remus said he'd teach us side-along apparition," Harry said. "We're going to have a busy week."

"You say that as if it's something new," Draco said. "We haven't had any free time all summer."

"What else did you expect when you asked the Order to train you?" Bill asked as he stood from his chair and replaced the orb in his satchel. "Anyway, I've got to be heading out, I promised Fleur I'd take her out to dinner one last time before I go back to work." He cheerfully waved goodbye before stepping through the Floo.

"That was the only lesson we had scheduled for today," Neville said gratefully. "You're dad said he won't be around for another week, right Harry?"

"Yeah," the teen sighed. "Apparently things are really heating up in Asgard, Grandfather is close to falling into the Odinsleep."

"Do you think you'll actually get to go there one day?" Hermione asked. "To Asgard?"

"I hope," Harry said. "One day. It's only ever been my dream to go there, I grew up hearing tales of my recklessly brave uncle, of my grandparents, and all of Asgard's splendor."

"I don't understand why you can't go," Blaise said. "Why is your father keeping you hidden from them?"

"It's a combination of things, we are not yet sure of my mortality or hopefully lack thereof, but it's mostly because Dad is...afraid of how Grandfather will react. He did not react very well to my father's other children, as a matter of fact he exiled them and forbid him from ever seeing them."

"Other children?" Hermione asked. "So the legends are true?"

Harry shrugged. "More or less, some things were lost and others were added over the years, but they do a good job of outlining the general idea."

"What legends?" Ron asked. "And your dad has other kids?"

Harry snorted. "That's a story for a whole other time."

* * *

The next morning when Harry stumbled down to the kitchen still blinking sleep from his eyes, he was surprised to see that he was the last person awake. The others were already down the stairs sipping their respective cups of tea and coffee before beginning their morning exercise.

He accepted a mug of coffee, made just the way he liked it, from Draco and settled down at the table.

"Hogwarts Express leaves in a few hours," Ron muttered.

"Wow," Neville said, "I forgot it was the first today. It feels weird not going back."

"It does," Hermione agreed. "Maybe we can go back, sit our seventh years with Ginny and Luna when this whole mess is over."

"With all that we're learning we won't even need to," Blaise said. "By the time this war is over we'll have learned enough to pass our NEWTs with straight O's."

"Even History of Magic?"

"Well none of us take that class anymore so we don't have to worry about that particular exam."

"Point taken," Hermione conceded.

"All right," Harry said, knocking back the last of his coffee. "Great talk, now let's get to work."

The others groaned, but finished off their drinks then dutifully climbed to their feet.

"Ten laps around the block, let's go!"

* * *

Severus sighed and pushed his lank hair away from his face, his bones ached, his head throbbed, and he was seriously contemplating ending it all with a single, well aimed curse. The only thing that stayed his hand was the knowledge that if he ended his life everything he had worked for would be lost with him. He had spent months in Yaxley's company, pouring over every last bit of information they could get on the layout and the makeup of Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic and their respective wards. They had spent countless hours together formulating plans to take control of both institutions, Severus had spent even more time searching for a flaw in their plan. He had been cursed not to reveal his mission to anyone who wasn't already privy to the information, but that didn't prevent him from attempting to find some way to sabotage the mission. The Ministry was a lost cause, once it was lost there would be no way to recover it until the war was over for good, but there was a chance Hogwarts could be recovered. Especially if a certain Gryffindor in Slytherin clothing became involved.

"That's it," Yaxley said, setting down his quill and looking over his copious notes with something akin to awe. "It's perfect."

"It is adequate," Severus agreed shortly.

"Adequate?" Yaxley repeated incredulously. "The Dark Lord will be pleased."

As if on cue, the marks on their arms burned, signifying the Dark Lord was summoning them.

"Come, let's show our lord what we have devised."

Severus slowly collected the various parchments they'd been working with and followed Yaxley to the sitting room where the meetings were held. They were some of the last to arrive, but the Dark Lord greeted them graciously and gestured for them to sit in the seats on either side of him.

"How are things fairing for the two of you?" he asked in his sibilant hiss.

"It is done, my lord," Yaxley said, his carefully crafted mask did little to hide his excitement.

Voldemort arched a hairless brow. "Is it? Show me."

"Certainly, my lord," Severus spoke up before Yaxley could begin rambling. "With your approval, we will send several groups of our newest recruits to attack low priority wizarding areas as a sort of diversion. When the Aurors and the Order are suitably distracted we will send two factions made up of our strongest members to attack Hogwarts and the Ministry simultaneously, stretching their already limited numbers even thinner. To secure the Ministry we simply need to eliminate the current Minister of Magic, Scrimgeour, his supporters and any Aurors who remained behind. There may be a few Ministry workers who will attempt to resist, but they will be easily taken care of. At Hogwarts the professors as well as several students will put up a fight, but they are no match for our Death Eaters, when we break through Hogwarts' wards we will replace them with some of our own, restricting ingoing and outgoing mail as well preventing anyone not keyed into the wards from entering or exiting the grounds."

"We also have a plan devised for any who attempt to oppose you, my lord," Yaxley piped in. "Once we gain control of the Ministry taking Azkaban will be a simple affair. We have no use for the maddened prisoners that resided within its walls as all of your devoted followers were retrieved some time ago, but the prison will make a fine correction facility for those who defy you and your regime."

"You managed to acquire the information on the wards around the Ministry and Hogwarts?" Voldemort asked. "Do we have men capable of taking them down?"  
"We do, my lord," Yaxley said. "Several of our newer recruits are trained curse breakers, they will accompany us during the raid."

"It is a fine plan," the Dark Lord commended. "I believe it will suit our purpose adequately."

Yaxley visibly slumped in relief while Severus remained impassive.

"We're only a week into the Hogwarts term," Voldemort said. "Let's give them a little more time to settle in, lull them into a false sense of security." He tapped his chin contemplatively. "Gather our men, prepare them. We attack in a fortnight."


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Loki stood at the edge of the Bifrost looking down into the endless waterfalls contemplatively. His mind was far away, it resided worlds away in fact, on Midgard. His son was, at the moment, preparing for a war he wished his child didn't have to have any part in. But his foolhardy, recklessly brave son insisted on heeding that damned prophecy's words and challenging the monstrous mortal Riddle.

"What is it you see when you look to the stars?"

Loki looked over his shoulder, Heimdall was standing only a few feet behind him, he hadn't even heard the man approach.

"You ask as if you don't already know," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I do not. Whatever you do and whoever you are with beyond these gates is shielded from my sights. I don't believe even the Allfather knows."

Loki turned away. "He doesn't care to know."

"On the contrary, he cares. I believe he simply fears what he may see."

"What? Is he afraid I'm attempting to subjugate Midgard?" Loki scoffed. "That is not to my tastes."  
"No, it is not."

Loki cast Heimdall an odd look before turning away. "It's always a pleasure speaking with you, Heimdall."

"And you, my prince."

Loki nodded at him, then headed in the direction of the palace, mind already returning to his son and what else he could do to prepare him for the horrors he was about to face.

* * *

Voldemort made his move in the dead of the night, exactly two weeks after the start of Hogwarts' term. Harry and the others were, fortunately, still awake when the (metaphorical) alarm sounded; they'd just wrapped up a particularly grueling training session and were settling down for a late dinner when Remus came tumbling through the fireplace.

A muggle town just outside of Bristol was under attack by Death Eaters and the Order needed all hands on deck to keep casualties at a minimum. They weren't given any time to process the situation, Remus simply shoved a portkey in their hands and wished them luck. The portkey deposited them on the second floor of a ravaged home, the street below was pure pandemonium, muggles were running and screaming in terror as Death Eaters laughed and cursed anything that moved and Order members and Aurors attempted to protect the muggles while also subduing the Death Eaters.

The chaos made it hard to think, let alone come up with a battle strategy, but the hours they'd put into the simulator had prepared Harry for this. He gave the situation a cursory assessment then began giving out orders. "The Aurors are doing a pretty good job protecting the muggles," he said, "but the Death Eaters seem to be giving them a bit of trouble. They're amateurs, new recruits from the look of it, probably here to prove themselves, but what they lack in experience they more than make up for in numbers. Let's pair up, Draco with Hermione, Blaise with Ron, and Nev with me. Focus on the offensive, but protect each other's back at all times. Don't let your attention wander, focus on the fight. This is the real deal, there will be no waking up from this. Once you're down, you're down for good. Got it?"

"Got it," the others chorused.

"Good, now let's go. Stay safe."

Harry and Neville wasted no time in joining the fight, they worked in perfect synchronization cutting through the hoard of Death Eaters until they were in the center of it all. Downing Death Eaters faster than they could appear. The dark wizards stood no chance against the teens, their curses were hard and fast, killing them quickly and efficiently. Most were unable to get within a meter of the pair, but the few that managed to slip past their defenses were downed with a fist to the throat or a palm to the nasion. Harry's blood practically sang with the thrill of the battle, but his stomach roiled with every life he took.

It was an eternity before the last Death Eater was dispatched and the six teens were left standing among a sea of corpses, terrified muggles, and panting Aurors and Order members, exhausted but triumphant and, for the most part, unharmed.

"Harry?" Kingsley and several other Aurors cautiously approached the bloodied teen and his companions. "Are you all right? Are any of you hurt?"

Harry glanced over at his friends, each of whom shook their head. "We're fine."

"Good." Kingsley cast a lingering glance at the corpses sprawled around the six teens with just a hint of incredulity. Any doubts of their capability to deal that killing blow when it came down to it had been obliterated. "Go home and rest, you did well."

A portkey, offered to them by a slightly beat up, but otherwise healthy Remus, returned the teens to Grimmauld Place, where Kreacher was waiting patiently for them with their abandoned dinners under a myriad of preservation and warming charms.

They'd only been home for five minutes, barely enough time to celebrate their victory, when the Weasleys came tumbling from the fireplace bearing grim news. The attacks on the muggle towns had been diversions, the new recruits had been sent out to distract the Order while the real threats like Voldemort and Bellatrix attacked Hogwarts and the Ministry. It had happened so fast, was planned so flawlessly, the call for help the Order members who resided in Hogwarts didn't get to their comrades in time, by the time help arrived the staff and students were trapped in the school, at the Death Eaters' mercy.

"Can't we-can't we go and get them ourselves?" Ron had asked desperately. "There's more than enough of us to be able to carry out a rescue mission."

"The Death Eaters have wards set up that prevent anyone from getting onto the grounds."

"You're a curse breaker!" Ron shouted. "Tear the wards down!"

"It's not that easy," Bill snapped. "Wards are a latticework of overlapping spells and enchantments. I need to study them, find a flaw in the layout, it'll take weeks before we can even begin talk about _tearing them down_."

"Ron, enough," Harry cut in before the redhead could retort. "I know you're upset, mate, but you need to calm down. Nothing's going to get done if you let yourself get worked up, we're going to need clear heads if we want to figure this mess out, yeah?"

Ron nodded tightly.

"All right," Harry turned back to the assembled Weasleys. "Do we have any information on what's going on inside Hogwarts? How many from our side have been injured or killed?"

"McGonagall sent us a Patronus when the Death Eaters first breached the wards, we arrived just as the Death Eater's erected the new wards. An auror almost died trying to force his way through. We haven't heard anything from McGonagall, or anyone else for that matter, since. My guess is that the wards cut off any communication from leaving or entering the school."

"What about the Ministry?" Draco asked. "What can you tell us about that attack?"

"Yaxley and Dolohov were in charge of that attack," Bill said. "But many of the higher ranking Death Eaters were present, all three of the Lestranges, Rosier, and a whole host of others. Most of the Ministry employees were able to apparate away when the Death Eaters first tore through the wards, but the few who remained were killed. The Aurors who weren't defending the two muggle villages were killed as well."

"As was Scrimgeour and all of his entourage," Charlie said somberly. "Lucius Malfoy has forcefully seized the title of Minister of Magic."

"He can't honestly believe the public will follow him," Blaise exclaimed. "By now it should be quite obvious he's a Death Eater!"

"The public's cooperation won't be a problem," Mr. Weasley said. "The Aurors have been scattered, Scrimgeour is dead, and the Death Eaters now have access to every secret the Ministry has kept hidden since it was built. The Department of Mysteries, Auror files, public records."

"And Azkaban," Fred said. "With the Auror Corps no more, our newest Minister is sure to create his own law enforcement squad, to ensure obedience."

"It'll be made up of old snake face's followers, no doubt," George agreed.

"They'll have no qualms about throwing someone who so much as looks at them wrong into Azkaban."

"They have enough leverage over the public to demand compliance," Mr. Weasley said. "They'll have no choice unless they want to see their families murdered and their lives destroyed."

"What can we do to stop them?" Hermione asked desperately.

"Very little," Bill said. "This makes winning the war that much harder."

"It's not impossible though," Harry said.

"No," Bill agreed, "not impossible."

"But only if we move fast," Draco said. "Strike hard. Our first act of retaliation should be retaking Hogwarts."

"Retake Hogwarts?" Fred asked, a touch incredulously. "And how do you propose we do that?"

Draco shrugged his shoulders. "Hell if I know," he said. "But we've got a skilled curse breaker and some seriously powerful wizards and witches on our side, I'm sure we'll come up with something."

"We should assemble the Order," Neville said. "This is something that needs to be discussed among all of us."

"And maybe try rounding up as many of the surviving Aurors as well," Remus suggested. "We're going to need as much help as we can get."

"That's brilliant," Harry said. "Just give me the names of the Aurors you manage to round up and I'll key them into the wards."

"Kingsley and Tonks will be our best bet at finding them," Mr. Weasley said. "I'll speak with them tonight."

"And I'll send a Patronus to the rest of the Order," Charlie volunteered. "I say we meet up tomorrow, the sooner the better."

"Sounds like a plan," Blaise agreed.

Once everyone had voiced similar agreements, first Bill, then the rest of the Weasleys stood to leave. Only Mrs. Weasley remained seated, wringing her handkerchief and glancing at each of the room's occupants nervously. "Are we leaving already?" she said. "What's the rush? We only just got here."

Ron exchanged glances with his brothers. "Why don't you all just stay the night?" he said, glancing anxiously at his mother. "We have enough room, and it would only make sense since you'll be coming right back tomorrow."

"Of course," Mrs. Weasley latched onto the offering eagerly. "I can make dinner, give that poor house elf a well-deserved break."

"Molly," Mr. Weasley said warningly.

"Ronnie asked!" she protested. "It would be rude to turn him down. Besides, it saves us a trip in the morning, makes things a bit easier."

"I'm not sure…"

"I don't see why you bother arguing with her anymore, Dad," George said. "You know how Mum gets when she's made up her mind, you'll never win." He sat back down and kicked his feet up on the table. "So, what's for dinner?"

* * *

Voldemort strolled leisurely through the Ministry, ignoring the blood seeping into the hem of his robes and casually stepping over the cooling bodies sprawled across the floor. The Ministry had fallen only an hour previous, but his Death Eaters were already getting rid of the bodies, taking care of survivors, and breaking into the carefully warded archives.

The raid had gone well, he had lost less than a dozen men, but all were new recruits, they would be replaced easily, and Scrimgeour and his lackeys were dead, killed by Voldemort himself. The man had put up one hell of a fight, he managed to hold his own for almost ten minutes before succumbed to Voldemort's might, as all others did.

Yaxley appeared at his side as he kicked aside a body blocking his way and effortlessly fell into step beside him. "My lord," the man said, inclining his head respectfully. "The head of the Unspeakables, Croaker, has been apprehended, he didn't come quietly, but he sustained no permanent injury, just as you commanded."

"Where is he?"

"The Minister's office, my lord."

"Very good," Voldemort purred, heading in the direction of the lift. "I will speak to our prisoner, alone. Join Dolohov in the basement, see if you can't help him make some headway in deciphering the Department of Mysteries' secrets."

Yaxley bowed his head once more, then stepped into a separate lift, leaving Voldemort to ride up to the first floor in silence. He strolled down the deathly silent hall briskly and into the opulent office, papers were scattered haphazardly across the room, blood stained the expensive carpets and tasteless portraits hanging on the wall, and a bound man was standing before the enormous, mahogany desk. He glared furiously at Voldemort as he rounded the desk and settled himself in the needlessly decadent seat.

"I don't know what you want," Croaker snarled, "but I'll die before I tell you anything."

"What an admirable sentiment," Voldemort said, "unfortunately, it is not death you are facing tonight." He calmly drew his wand and absentmindedly tapped it on the desktop several times, sparks shot from the tip and scorched the polished wood, but he paid them no mind. "There are things I need to know, things only an Unspeakable can tell me, and seeing as you're the very last Unspeakable it would be very unwise of me to kill you. But I do not need the fear of death to make you talk, I have other ways of loosening your tongue. Now," Voldemort slowly rose from his seat, "you are quite knowledgeable in potions, are you not? Light, dark and all in between?" When Croaker remained stubbornly silent, Voldemort sighed in irritation then pointed his wand at the Unspeakable. "_Crucio_."

He allowed the man to writhe in agony for almost a full minute before ending the spell, it wouldn't do to irreparably damage his only source of information.

"Well?"

"Go to hell."

The next Cruciatus was so powerful Voldemort had to end it after barely ten seconds or else Croaker would go mad from the pain. As he lowered his wand, he found his hand was trembling, tiny, hairline fractures ran along the delicate wood of his yew wand. He tightened his grip around the handle to steady his hand and lend his weakening wand a bit of support.

"Answer me, Croaker."

"Yes, I know about potions," the Unspeakable gasped, glancing at the tip of Voldemort's ominously glowing wand fearfully.

"Very good. Then you should be familiar with the Restoration Potion."

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given. Flesh of the servant willingly sacrificed. Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken," Croaker recited. "I know of it."

"Well something went wrong with the potion. The blood forcibly taken from the enemy was not human."

"What-what was it?"

"I don't know," Voldemort snarled. "Whatever…_it_ was, it was blue, with strange markings on his forehead, and red eyes. And because of that creature's blood I no longer have control of my magic."

"No such creature exists in anything but children's bedtime stories."

Voldemort aimed his wand between Croakers eyes. "_What is it?_"

"A-a-a frost giant. Creatures of Norse legend, as strong as the gods and capable of controlling and wielding ice as a weapon. But they don't exist."

Voldemort slowly lowered his wand as contemplation stole across his face. "As a child, I didn't believe wizards existed either."

* * *

Grimmauld Place was packed to the gills, every Order member who wasn't being held captive by the Death Eaters had answered Charlie's call to arms, some had even gone one further and brought family members and friends willing to fight. It had been a hassle making sure all of these unexpected allies were actually trustworthy, but it was well worth it; the Order had doubled with the influx of able bodied wizards and witches all of whom were willing and at least semi-capable of fighting. And that was _before_ Kingsley and Tonks arrived with their Auror compatriots.

A good amount of Aurors had been captured and killed during the attack in the Ministry and several more had been injured in the diversion attacks, but there still remained more than two dozen Aurors. Some were still only trainees, but they still remained more capable at fighting Death Eaters than a random wizard off of the street.

Each of the Aurors had been put through the same interrogation process the Order's newest recruits had gone through to ascertain their trustworthiness. Most endured the process with dignity, but a few attempted to protest, Gawain Robards, the Head Aurors, or previous Head Aurors considering the Auror Corps no longer existed, had attempted to kick up a fuss, but Kingsley and Mad-Eye were able to calm him before he could really get worked up.

"The wards will recognize them all from now on," Harry said after the last Auror had been cleared. "If someone who is under the guise of Polyjuice or a glamour, or if their minds are being altered or controlled by the Imperious or other such spells the wards won't permit them entry."

"Impressive," Tonks said. "You've really got this place locked down."

"Yeah, well it's all thanks to Bill. He put most of those wards up for us when we moved in."

"Let's hope he's just as good tearing them down as he is putting them up," Moody grunted. "We're going to need it if all this talk of retaking Hogwarts is true."

"If it was, would it be something you'd be interested in helping out with?" Draco asked.

"My interest would be out of self-preservation and nothing more. If I'm not here to supervise, you idiots would probably end up killing us all, no matter what hidey hole I've tucked myself in. Bad luck, the lot of you."

"Which is why we're so grateful you're here, Mad-Eye," Neville grinned.

"Don't try to sweet talk me, boy. It won't work." Moody turned and stomped into the main room where the majority of the Order and Aurors had congregated. Harry and his friends as well as the few lingering adults followed him in.

A large table, three times as wide as the kitchen table and thrice as long, took up the majority of the room. Every seat on one end of the table had been filled, but on the other end, the head, six seats among the Weasleys and a few of the other Order remained open. It was there Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Draco, and Blaise sat.

"Impressive turnout," Draco muttered, eyeing the fifty or so people seated around the table.

"Hope you don't have performance anxiety," Blaise said.

"Draco thrives on attention," Hermione snorted. "He doesn't know the meaning."

"There's nothing I don't know."

"All right, calm down with all of that," Neville laughed. "And be quiet, the meeting's started."

Sure enough, Kingsley had risen from his seat and was waiting patiently for the last of the conversations to die out.

"Thank you all for coming today," he said once the room had fallen silent. "I understand we are facing some truly dark times, so the courage you've exhibited by leaving the safety of your homes to attend a gathering that could very well be considered illegal under our newest regime has never been more appreciated." He allowed the flurry of pleased murmurs to make their rounds before continuing. "Voldemort has finally done what we've been waiting for since Dumbledore's death, he used our time of mourning to his advantage by taking Hogwarts and seizing the Ministry. He assumed that our grief would cloud our judgment and hinder our actions, and for a moment he was right, but what he didn't anticipate was that we would come back stronger than ever, that we would strike back when our own were threatened. But we will, and we'll start by retaking Hogwarts."

The eruption that simple statement elicited was enormous. The thought of so blatantly challenging the Dark Lord both terrified and exhilarated the Order members. Unfortunately, they all attempted to express these emotions at the same time in tones that did not qualify as inside voices.

"Enough," Kingsley called over the roar of voices. "Speak one at a time or not at all."

"How do you plan on taking Hogwarts?" a young Auror asked. "I was there the night the Aurors attacked, the wards they put up are near impenetrable."

"No ward is impenetrable," Bill said. "No matter how skilled the caster there will always be a flaw, that flaw is all we need to bring them crashing down. We just need a little faith and a lot of manpower to find it."

"We've already begun formulating a tentative plan," Charlie said. "It starts with us establishing a base somewhere in Hogsmeade, somewhere where we can keep an eye on the comings and goings of any Death Eaters from the school, memorize their schedules, learn their habits, their favorite places to go in Hogsmeade."

"We'll also use our proximity to the school to study the wards," Bill said. "Once we've found a way to breach them we'll send in a team to scout the school, find out which Death Eaters are set up where. Then they'll report back to us and we'll figure out the best way to take the school back."

"And then what?" Gawain Robards asked. "If this plan somehow proves to be successful and you manage to reclaim as well as refortify the school, what do you intend to do afterwards? This small victory will not stop Voldemort, as a matter of fact, I strongly believe this will prompt him to seek out some form of retaliation even more deadly than his current actions."

"We won't give him the chance to retaliate," Harry said. "Once Hogwarts is ours again we intend to use it as a base to coordinate attacks on Voldemort and his Death Eaters. There won't be any more sitting back and simply waiting for him to attack our schools and our homes again, from now on we'll be going on the offensive, hitting them before they have a chance to hit us."

"You're going to actively seek out fights with the Death Eaters?" Robards scoffed. "Do you have a death wish boy?"

"Quite the contrary actually. I intend to live a long life, something that will not be achievable if we remain on the defensive," Harry said mildly, despite the older man's openly hostile tone. "One would think you would have learned from the mistakes of your predecessors, they did not take the opportunity to strike and thus weaken Voldemort when it was presented to them and almost lost because of it. What makes you think we'll do any better than they did, especially considering Voldemort is far more powerful than he was before he fell and his allies have only grown in numbers?"

"Forgive me if I don't take your words to heart," Robards said sarcastically, "but I find it difficult to accept war advice from a child. I have been fighting Death Eaters for almost two decades now. While you were still drooling on yourself and messing in nappies, I was putting some of the most notorious dark wizards in Azkaban."

"Fighting Death Eaters is all well and good, your efforts were much appreciated," Harry said, the slightest hint of mockery in his voice. "But while you were struggling with the lower echelions of the dark side I was tackling the more tough to beat problem, you know, the head honcho himself. It's a shame when a child still _drooling on himself and messing in nappies_ is able to do what seasoned Aurors, such as yourself, were unable to."

Harry could practically see the cogs grinding to life inside of Robards' head the moment he realized who it was he was speaking with. "Potter then? You don't truly expect me to believe that You-Know-Who's defeat was a conscious effort on your part?"

"Perhaps not conscious," Harry conceded, "but that doesn't change the fact that I did more for this fight against Voldemort than you did in your twenty years as an Auror. I'm not saying this suddenly makes me some all-knowing war guru, but in defeating Voldemort all of those years ago, consciously or otherwise, I put myself on the top of his hit list. Correct me if I'm wrong, but out of everyone in this room I've encountered and actually fought the dark lord the most. So why don't you set aside your hubris for just a second, and accept advice from anyone who's willing to give it, no matter their age."

"I don't need your advice," Robards snapped. "I've had more than enough experience in the dealings of war. Now, as Head Auror-"

"But you're not Head Auror," Harry interrupted unrepentantly. "In case you haven't noticed, there is no longer a Ministry, there is no longer an Auror corps, you're no longer Head Auror, you're just a man with a shiny badge and an ego bigger than the British Isles. You have no authority in _my _house, or really anywhere else to be frank. So either sit back and shut the hell up while we try to figure out some way to rescue our friends and children or get out, find someone else willing to fight alongside you."

"All right, enough," Moody cut in before Robards could respond. "Robards, I don't know what your problem with Potter is, but he's right. There's no way in hell we're going to beat these bastards if we don't get up off our asses and do something, I've been telling Dumbledore for years it's about time we started acting instead of simply reacting."

"It could work, sir," another Auror said. "We won't make any headway against You-Know-Who if we wait around for him to attack us. Actively seeking him and his allies out is the only way we'll end this war."

Robards scowled but had no snappy comeback for either Moody or the young Auror. For the rest of the meeting, he sat in sullen silence, refusing to pitch in any ideas or give his input when asked, but not once did he get up to leave.

The meeting disbanded several hours later, in the early hours of the morning. Everyone went home exhausted but incredibly pleased with the plan they had collectively devised.

A plan that went into action the very next morning. A handful of Order members met at the Hogs Head just as dawn broke for a clandestine meeting with the pubs owner, Aberforth Dumbledore. It took several hours, a copious amount of galleons, and the divulgence of more information than they were entirely comfortable with before the man agreed to rent one of the private rooms above the pub to the Order. At least three Order members were in that room, hidden behind a myriad of privacy and protection wards, every second of every day for over a month. During the day they slowly gathered information on any Death Eater who visited the small village and its numerous pub, at night they crept to the edge of Hogwarts' property to study the wards. Their efforts were exhausting and progress was slow, but they stuck to their task with dogged determination and, eventually, it paid off.

The day after Halloween, they finally managed to breach the wards. Immediately, a small team of wizards were sent into the school to do a bit of subtle surveillance. They were there for almost two days, carefully scouting the school, gathering as much intel as they could. When they had gathered all they could, they returned to Grimmauld Place where every Order member and excommunicated Auror was waiting.

"It's bad in there," Charlie, who had been a part of the reconnaissance team, said grimly. "Most of the Death Eaters who helped take the school returned to Malfoy Manor, but there are still at least a dozen of them lurking about. As far as we could tell, the Carrow siblings have taken charge, they've scrapped the traditional classes and are forcing the students to learn the dark arts, things like the Unforgivable. Anyone who refuses are used as practice dummies for the rest of the students. Any student who doesn't swear their loyalty to the dark lord is thrown in the dungeons, where we think the Death Eaters torture them for fun. But the students haven't taken the regime change laying down." The older Weasley brother turned to Harry and his friends. "Your defense group has been causing all sorts of trouble, they're defying the Death Eaters in any way they can. The Carrows have tried to apprehend and make an example of them, but unless they're attacking the Death Eaters or attempting to free the prisoners from the dungeons, they're nowhere to be found. We searched the school top to bottom for them, but we didn't find them anywhere."

"Chances are they're in the Room of Requirement," Blaise said. "Our headquarters. I don't think anyone outside of the T.A. knows where to find it."

"So they're safe?" Mrs. Weasley asked. "If Ginny's with them is she safe?"

"Most likely," Neville said. "Even if the Death Eaters knew where to look, I'd be willing to bet they've put a password on the door to prevent anyone from entering."

"Thank Merlin," she sighed.

"What about Snape?" Ron asked. "Where was he during all of this?"

Snape had been a sore subject among the Order, many thought he had betrayed them, that Dumbledore's death had pushed him to the dark side, but Harry believed differently. He was convinced he was loyal to light as ever, and that even though he hadn't yet made some outrageous show of support, he was still on their side.

"He's usually locked in his office," Tonks said. "The portraits said he sometimes ventures further into the dungeons, where the prisoners are kept, but no one knows what he does in there."

"Well then let's find out," one of the newer Order members said. "We have our people, we have our plan, there's no reason we should leave them to suffer in those dungeons another night."

Charlie nodded in agreement. "The Death Eaters are under the impression that their wards are infallible, so they only have one or two of their men patrolling the halls at night, to catch any late night wanderers. If we strike now, they'll be taken by surprise, it'll be an easy win."

"The problem is the Death Eaters will be scattered all around the school," Hermione said. "We don't have an exact count of their numbers, so there will be no way to know if we've managed to successfully subdue all of them or if there are more hidden in the castle."

"We may know of something that could help with that little problem," George said.

"A map," Fred agreed. "Of the school."

"Enchanted to show every person in the school."

"And their whereabouts."

"Helped us out of quite a few pinches," George said reminiscently.

"That it did, brother dearest."

"It wouldn't happen to be called the Marauder's Map, would it?" Remus asked.

"It is actually," George said.

"You've heard of it?" Fred asked.

"I have." An odd smile stole across Remus' face. "It helped my friends and I out of more than a few jams in our time."

"Unfortunately, it's no longer in our possession," George said.

Fred nodded regretfully. "Gave it to Ginny after leaving Hogwarts."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Draco said. "She's most likely tucked away in the Room of Requirement with the rest of the T.A., we'll just swing by and hope she has it with her. We'll plan our next move from there."

"I don't think there should be a 'we' in that statement, young man," Robards said. "I would feel much more comfortable if you and your companions remained out of this particular fight."

After his verbal dressing down a month ago, Robards had learned to control his quick temper in regards to Harry and his friends, but he still remained strongly against them taking part in any sort of Order mission.

"Well, you're just going to have to suck it up, Robards, because they're coming," Moody said, he was in absolutely no mood to hear the man's protests. "They're going to show us where this Room of Requirement is so we can get this map from the Weasley girl, then they're going to help us fight those Death Eaters and win our school back. I've trained them myself, I trust them to hold their own more than I do some of your newest recruits. Now, shut up, I don't want to hear another word on the matter."

"We shouldn't need very many people for this mission," Remus said. "There should be only fifteen Order members along with Harry, Draco, Blaise, Neville, Ron, and Hermione. Any more will just get in the way."

Bill and Charlie immediately volunteered, followed by Fred, George, and Mr. Wesley; they wanted to be on the frontlines, fighting the wizards who had held their daughter and sister captive for over a month. Remus was next to step up, followed by Moody, Kingsley, Robards, and Tonks. Before long they had fifteen wizards and witches gathered around a long strip of fabric that would serve as their portkey to the edge of the wards.

Getting into the school was almost too easy. Bill, being the exceptional curse breaker that he was, had created a hole in the wards just large enough to allow their group entrance but just small enough to keep its existence hidden from the Death Eaters. They snuck across the grounds under heavy disillusionment charms and slipped through the familiar double doors without being noticed even once.

Appearance wise, the school looked much the same as it had when they'd last walked the halls only a few months ago, perhaps the walls were a bit grayer and the lights a bit dimmer, but it wasn't anything that couldn't be passed off as mere imaginations. The most obvious and undeniably disturbing change to school was the heavy, oppressive atmosphere that clung to the walls and weighted the air; it seemed to have a dampening effect on the school's innate magic, darkening the halls, dulling the once vibrant portraits. Hogwarts seemed utterly devoid of all life, even late in the night the portraits could be heard snoring and muttering in their sleep, the ghosts murmuring amongst themselves as they floated through the halls, and even the soft sounds of running feet and mischievous giggles as students risked detention for a late night snack in the kitchens or a midnight grope with their significant other in the Astronomy Tower. It was so different from the lively school Harry was used to, it made his heart hurt and magic rise up in anger, but it also strengthened his resolve to eradicate every last Death Eater loyal to Voldemort from Hogwarts' hallowed halls.

"Where is this Room of Requirement again?" Kingsley whispered as he and the others followed Harry's group down a darkened corridor.

"Seventh floor," Harry responded quietly as he carefully peeked around the corner. "Across from the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy."

"That's four floors up," Tonks said. "There's no way we'll be able to make it without encountering at least one Death Eater. Our lucks bound to run out soon enough."

"Don't jinx us," Draco hissed. "We're doing just fine and we're going to continue to do so. Now knock on wood or something, before you bring a whole hoard of Death Eaters upon us."

"Too late," Neville whispered urgently. "We've got at least ten of them coming from the left corridor."

"I thought Charlie said only one or two patrolled the halls at night," Remus said as he and the others looked around frantically for some place to hide, their dillusionment charms could only do so much.

"He did, but they don't look as if they're patrolling, they're on their way somewhere."

"There's nowhere for us to run," Kingsley said resignedly. "Wands out everyone, let's make this quick and quiet. Don't shoot until they're all in sight, it wouldn't do for one of them to run off and sound the alarm."

The fifteen Order members and Harry's group of six lined up against the wall and waited tensely as the ten Death Eaters drew closer, loudly talking amongst each other as they did. The first to round the corner didn't seem to see the disillusioned men and women pressed against the wall, nor did the next few. As the last of the group entered the hall, they continued bickering and roughhousing with each other, seemingly unaware of the silently watching figures.

Several of the Order members where just beginning to fool themselves into believing they might get away from this encounter without having to cross wands with the Death Eaters when one of the dark wizards forcefully shoved his comrade, who stumbled directly into one of the hidden Order members, revealing her location. Immediately, the rest of the Order members were peeling themselves from the walls, wands drawn and curses on their lips. Before the Death Eaters even knew what was happening, they were being ruthlessly cut down by the previously invisible wizards and witches. They were severely outnumbered and outmatched, so they chose their best option and turned tail and ran. Most didn't even make it down the hall before they were forcefully dragged back and bound with the rest of their brethren, but one managed to turn the corner, out of their line of fire.

"I've got him," Harry sighed. He kicked the bound form of his latest victim aside then turned to race after the fleeing Death Eater; he rounded the corner just in time to see his prey duck into the adjacent corridor and up a flight of stairs.

Harry cursed quietly as he followed the flighty Death Eater up multiple flights of steps and down several twisting corridors. He had no trouble keeping up, his inherited speed and endurance allowed him to keep up without any trouble, but due to his sizeable head start and the suits of armor and geysers of water and other randomly conjured objects he threw in his path, Harry wasn't able to draw level with his quarry. The longer this chase went on the greater his chance of running into more Death Eaters became, he attempted to hit the man with a spell, but having to leap over suits of armor and hastily conjured blockades severely threw off his aim.

Just as he was resigning himself to playing this mad game of cat and mouse until the Death Eater simply became too tired to run any more, a black clad figure stepped from one of the empty classrooms along the corridor and hit Harry's quarry with a stunning spell.

Harry skidded to a halt barely a meter from the now prone body, he silently eyed his unexpected aid for several seconds, then a slow smile stretched across his face. "Professor Snape."

"Potter. I see you finally managed to worm your troublesome hide past the wards." The potion master's dark eyes flickered over Harry's shoulder as Kingsley, Tonks, and his friends raced down the corridor. "And I see you brought reinforcements. About time."

Harry laughed incredulously. "I sincerely apologize for the wait, sir. I'm sure it would have been much longer, however, if it hadn't been for you. It was you who you who planted that flaw in the wards, right?"

Surprise flashed across Snape' face for half a second before it was quickly hidden behind his usual mask of stoic indifference. "Well, I couldn't leave this school in the hands of these filthy mongrels. How else would the witless monkeys you people call children learn how to put their handful of collective brain cells to use to become less of a threat to our already broken society?"

"I'm always left astounded by the confidence you have in our generation," Harry grinned. He quickly glanced over his shoulder at the six wizards waiting tensely behind him. "Would you mind terribly keeping an eye on the prisoners in the dungeon, sir? Just for a moment, it wouldn't do for them to be even more injured than they already are in the coming fire fight."

Snape eyed Harry for a long moment, then his comrades, before finally nodding. "That would perhaps be for the best," he said. "But do not become accustomed to asking favors of me, Potter. I may not be in such a generous mood any other time."

"I wouldn't dream of it, professor," Harry grinned.

Snape nodded once more, then turned and swept from the hall.

"Harry." The boy in question turned and arched a brow at an uncertain looking Kingsley. "Are you sure that was wise?"

"He won't betray us."

The older wizard sighed wearily. "I understand your desire to believe he's remained on our side through all of this, but what if he's not? What if he's heading to raise the alarm as we speak?"

Harry shot him a dashing grin as he tucked his wand back in its holster. "Then things are about to get a lot more exciting."

* * *

Snape didn't raise the alarm, nor, as far as Harry could tell, did he attempt to alert any of his Death Eater compatriots to their presence. The group made it to Barnabas the Barmy's portrait with no further issues or Death Eater encounters.

"All right, there's the portrait," Robards said, "so where's the bloody room?"

Hermione didn't bother with an answer, she simply stepped away from the group and began pacing before the blank stretch of wall opposite the portrait, silently wishing to reveal the T.A.'s headquarters as she did. On her third lap, the wall shifted, but instead of creating the door they were used to, the stone shifted to reveal a small circular divot molded into the wall.

"What is that?" Charlie asked, stepping closer to examine the new addition to the wall.

"Where's the door?" another Order member asked. "I thought you said there would be a door here."

"Are you sure we're in the in the right place?"

"We are," Harry said, lightly tracing the outline of the impression, it was like an oddly shaped, very shallow key hole, spelled to accept a very specific item. "This is their safety measure, a precaution far more effective than any normal password." He reached into the mokeskin pouch he'd received as birthday present from Hagrid and produced a familiar gold coin.

"A galleon?" Robards scoffed. "Death Eaters could get their hands on one of those no problem."

"This isn't just any galleon," Harry said. "They were created by Hermione and myself for our T.A. members, one for each of them, we used them to schedule meetings. Because of that, they have a very distinctive magic to them, one a normal galleon wouldn't." He pressed the galleon in the small divot and watched as it slowly grew taller and wider, sprouting hinges and a doorknob, until it was a fully functioning door.

"That was neat," Neville murmured.

"No one says neat anymore, Nev," Draco snorted.

"I do," the teen muttered.

Harry spared his friends a fleeting glance of amusement before reaching for the doorknob and pushing the door open. It swung open on well-oiled hinges, the familiar creak of old rusted hinges was nowhere to be heard, but the teens behind the door must have had some way to warn them of their approach as they were already waiting for them. Almost four dozen students faced the small group of Order members bodies tensed and wands drawn.

Harry raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender as he and the rest of the group filed into the room and closed the door behind him. "We come in peace."

For a moment there was a heavy silence, both groups silently assessed each other, then a familiar figure pushed her way from the midst of the crowd. "Harry?"

The dark haired teen smiled and waved jauntily. "Hey, Gin."

He was unsurprised when the youngest Weasley stepped forward and, instead of pulling him into a crushing embrace, pressed her wand to his throat. "I haven't written in a diary since I was eleven. Why?"

"Because of Tom."

The change in Ginny was immediate, the tension that tightened her shoulders and coiled her spine fell away, she dropped her wand and a relieved smile spread across her face. "You've finally come to save us?"

"Was there any doubt?"

"Once or twice, when the going got really tough."

"Well we're here now, and we don't intend on going anywhere anytime soon, not until every last one of Voldemort's loyalists are gone from this school."

"How heroic."

Harry shrugged and grinned unrepentantly. "It's what I do."

Ginny happily exchanged greetings with her family and the rest of the Order before they finally got to the reason they had come to the Room of Requirement.

"In order to ensure we launch a successful attack," George said.

"And don't leave a single Death Eater behind," Fred continued for him.

"We need that map we gave you."

"The Marauder's Map?" Ginny asked. "We've been using that to get around the school without being caught by the Death Eaters, it's helped us tons." She summoned an aged sheet of parchment and handed it to Fred.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he murmured as he tapped the face of the parchment with the tip of his wand.

Harry watched with interest as black lines spread across the page, mapping out every corridor, room, and even secret passage in the school, next to appear were tiny ink dots, each labeled with the name of one of the castle's occupants.

Most of the Death Eaters had taken up residence in the teachers' quarters, while the professors were either imprisoned in the dungeons or rooming with their students. Two lower level Death Eaters were patrolling the second and third floor respectively, while two more were positioned almost right on top of each other in the corridor of the dungeons, Snape's dot was standing only a few meters away.

"So how are we going to do this?" Tonks asked.

"The professors' rooms are password protected," Remus said. "We could spend the entire night trying to break in and nothing would be accomplished, we need to find some way to draw them out."

Fred and George exchanged mischievous glances. "Leave that to us."

* * *

Harry laughed incredulously as he ducked a spell from a snarling Death Eater, then side stepped a cackling, fluorescent orange Catherine wheel.

"Where the hell did you get bloody fireworks from?" he called to George.

"We sell all manner of things at WWW," the redhead grinned. "Fireworks happen to be one of them."

"And you brought them here because…?"

"We needed something to celebrate our victory over the Death Munchers."

Overhead a blue and green dragon exploded to life, as Harry cut off the supply of air to another Death Eater's lungs with a punch to the throat.

Only fifteen minutes after setting off the first firework, the two Carrow siblings and all of their compatriots had been subdued. Harry was honestly a little disappointed, he'd hoped that at least the Carrows, being slightly more skilled than the average Death Eater, would give him something of a challenge, but even they were depressingly easy to defeat.

"Is that all?" Ron asked, obviously sharing Harry's feelings.

"Yup," Fred said, checking the map. "Snape is on his way with the two Death Eaters from the dungeons, and Remus has the two who were patrolling the halls."

When Remus and Snape arrived, the Death Eaters they had rounded up were bound and added to the rest.

"What should we do with them?" Charlie asked.

"Kill them," Draco said.

"We will do no such thing!" Robards snapped. "We don't kill, that would make us no better than them."

"That ideology is exactly why we're losing this war," Harry said. "If we don't kill them what do you suggest we do with them? Azkaban is no longer under our control and we certainly can't keep them here, locked away in the dungeons just waiting for Voldemort to come and rescue them. So we either kill them or set them free."

Everyone looked to Kingsley, their unofficial leader, for a final decision, he, in turn, looked to Snape. "All of these men," he said, "they are loyal to Voldemort? None have shown signs of wanting to defect?"

Snape shook his head. "No."

Kingsley sighed heavily, then nodded once. "Kill them."

Robards looked furious, but he said nothing as the Death Eaters were quickly dealt with and their bodies disposed of.

For the rest of the night the school was bustling with activity, the professors were freed from their makeshift prison in the dungeon and taken to the hospital wing, which thankfully remained mostly untouched during the Death Eaters' reign, where they were patched up to the best of a shaken Madam Pomfrey's ability, the students were rounded up and informed of the night's events, and the castle was checked over multiple times for any curses or jinxes the Death Eaters may have left behind.

The next morning, students wrote to their parents to inform them that they were once again safe, by mid-afternoon the school was receiving an influx of frantic owls and hysterical parents. A majority of the muggle borns were boarding the train that same day to return home, per their parents' demands, as were a number of half-bloods, but even more parents opted to simply join their children at the school.

It had been decided that Hogwarts would no longer act solely as a school, until the war was over it would be the light's base of operation and an asylum for any hoping to escape the encroaching darkness. The professors, Order members, and ex-Aurors would still teach classes to anyone willing to attend, but they would be teaching lessons on defensive curses and how to get away from an encounter with a Death Eater alive.

Despite how hectic things had become since moving into Hogwarts, Harry and his friends continued their training. With each day they grew stronger and stronger both physically and magically, they worked as a team flawlessly and, nine times out of ten, they managed to make it out of a simulated battle with everyone still alive. But for all their training, they were making very little headway in the war. Voldemort didn't seem to realize that Hogwarts was no longer under his control, he continued staging attacks on both muggle and wizarding towns once every few weeks as usual, and made no move retaliate or regain the school. The Order was there for every attack, defending the towns and their residents, but they were hesitant to launch their own attacks, scared it would bring the dark lord's wrath down on them (more than it already was, anyway). And to make things worse, their hunt for the Horcruxes had all but come to a grinding halt, they had no leads on what the final two Horcruxes were, or where any of the others could be found. They had hit a dead end and there was absolutely no reprieve in sight. If they didn't do something, and soon, it was incredibly likely they'd lose the war and their lives with it.

* * *

The Death Eaters cowered as Voldemort swept into the drawing room, a terrible scowl fixed on his reptilian face. "Why is it," he hissed, snake-like as ever, "that Hogwarts has been under the control of the Order of the bloody Phoenix for _three months_ and it is only just now being brought to my attention?"

He had been gone for but a few months, scouring all of magical Europe for answers he so desperately needed, namely what Potter was and, more importantly, what the boy's blood had done to him. He had failed to find any of the information he'd been looking for, any stories on what Potter could be had long since faded into obscurity.

"My Lord, we didn't know-"

"_Crucio_."

The Death Eater who had dared open his mouth fell out of his seat with an agonized scream, Voldemort flicked his wand once more, placing a silencing charm over him, before turning back to his terrified followers.

"Yaxley," he said, his barely contained fury evident in his voice, "explain."

"Yes, my lord," the man said quickly lest he suffer the same fate as his comrade. "In your absence, we were each relegated a certain task by your second in command, Bellatrix." The witch snarled silently at him, recognizing the subtle passing of the blame for what it was. "I and several others were tasked with cracking the secrets of the Department of Mysteries, it was there we spent most of our time."

"Who was in charge of maintaining correspondence within the school?"

"Pucey."

The young wizard shrunk in his seat when burning red eyes focused on him. "Well?" Voldemort said, deceivingly calm. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I…I didn't know," Pucey said, near shaking with terror. "The last time I met with one of our men inside the school, he told me they were hunting several students who were attacking Death Eaters, everyone was to take part in the search, so he said it would be unlikely he would be able to check in until the students were found. I just assumed I hadn't heard anything from him because they were still looking."

"You shouldn't have assumed," Voldemort said coldly. "Your assumption cost us a major victory."

"Please, forgive me, my Lord. I will not fail you again, I swear-"

"_Nagini_," Voldemort hissed. "_Dinner_."

The enormous snake struck from her perch along the back of her master's seat with vicious speed, she was upon Pucey within a matter of seconds, her unnaturally long fangs sinking into his throat again and again until it was a bloody, mangled mess. He collapsed from his seat, struggling to draw breath for several long seconds before he finally succumbed to the copious amounts of venom coursing through his veins.

"On the off chance it wasn't clear before," Voldemort all but snarled, "we are at _war_. There will be no assumptions, no errors, you will pay for your mistakes with your life. Now get out of my sight, all of you."

* * *

Harry hummed quietly to himself as he made a copy of an old Daily Prophet clipping and slipped it into an empty slot in the album he and his friends had created for their Horcrux hunt. He was in an abandoned corner of the library, surrounded by an assortment of history books and old copies of the Daily Prophet, he had devoted every second of his spare time scouring the library for information on the founders in hopes of finding some clue on what the next Horcrux could be. He had yet to find anything concrete, but he didn't let his lack of success discourage him.

"Hello, my prince."

"Hello, Luna," Harry smiled up at the dreamy blonde. "Come to join me?"

"If it's not too much trouble."

"Your presence is always welcome with me. Unfortunately, I don't think I'll be very good company at the moment."

"Yes, I see you have quite the worplers infestation. It seems they're nesting in your ears. I take it it's because you're treasure hunt isn't going so well."

"Treasure hunt?" Harry repeated. "What treasure hunt?"

"For the seven souls, of course."

"How did you…?" Harry shook his head. "Never mind. Do the worplers have anything to tell me about the hunt?"

"Nothing you want to listen to. Worplers crawl into your ear and whisper lies to you to throw you off the hunt, they find it great fun. Ooh, but I think I may have something that may help clear them away."

Luna dug through her bag for a few moments, before producing an exceptionally odd headdress. It was a bizarre looking piece that almost resembled a tiara, it was made up of two leather straps, one attached to a pair of glittering blue wings to the top of his head and the other strapped an orange radish to his forehead, to complete the look, a pair of golden ear trumpets curved from the sides.

"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure," she sang as she placed it on his head.

"Thank you?" Harry said. "What is it?"

"A replica of Ravenclaw's lost diadem."

Harry immediately perked up, this was the first he'd ever heard of an artifact from Ravenclaw. "I've never heard of that."

"Of course you haven't," Luna giggled, "it _is_ lost after all. No one has seen it in centuries."

"No one knows _anything _about the diadem?" Harry asked. A diadem that belonged to one of the four founders, especially one that had been lost for centuries, would be the perfect Horcrux for Voldemort.

"Well," Luna said thoughtfully, "the Gray Lady might, but she isn't too fond of talking, or people in general."

"The Gray Lady?"

"The ghost of Ravenclaw tower," Luna stood and brushed her skirt off. "I'll introduce you."

Harry quickly shoved his things into his bag and hurried after the blonde. They wandered the halls for almost half an hour before finding the haughty looking ghost floating in the astronomy tower, barely visible in the noonday sun.

"Hello, Helena," Luna said. "This is Harry Potter, he wants to know about your mother's diadem." Then she turned and walked away.

"What?" Harry cried. "Luna!" He didn't have time to chase the girl down as the irritated Gray Lady was floating away in the opposite direction. "Wait!" he cried, hurrying after the ghost. "Helena, is it? I'm sorry about that, but if you know Luna you'll know she lacks any sort of social grace."

The Gray Lady paused in her retreat, though her expression remained unwelcoming.

"As Luna said, I'm Harry Potter, she told me you may know something about Ravenclaw's diadem. Your mother's, did she say it was?"

"I don't know where the girl got that idea from," the Gray Lady said. "But I have no idea where my mother's diadem is. I'm sorry but you'll have to find some other way to pass your next exam."

"Miss Ravenclaw, I didn't ask about the diadem because I wanted to pass my next exam, Hogwart's isn't exactly functioning as a school at the moment. I need it because of Voldemort, you've heard of him I presume?"

"Your current dark lord," Helena said disdainfully.

"Yes, he's done something to himself, to his soul, something that's making him very hard to get rid of, like a roach that just keeps coming back." He felt a flash of victory when a smile tugged at the corner of the ghost's lips. "He has seven items that he's…tainted, to keep himself alive, I've managed to destroy three of them, but the other four are still out there, and I believe your mother's diadem could be one of them. Until all seven are destroyed, I can't kill him."

"Why must you be the one to kill him?" the Grey Lady asked. "I've heard stories about you, the great and powerful Harry Potter, but you owe these people nothing, leave the destruction of Voldemort to the people who caused his rise in the first place."

Harry glanced over his shoulder, ensuring the immediate area was empty. "There's supposed to be a prophecy about him and I, either he kills me or I kill him," he said. "I'm not sure of the prophecy's validity, but even if it was complete tripe, I'd still go after him because I could never entrust these people with such a task. I'm sure they'd get it done, eventually, but my friends and family could die as those fools blunder about trying to find the right side of their wands. I won't entrust the lives of my friends and family to anyone but myself."

Helena stared contemplatively at Harry, his somewhat impassioned speech seemed to have changed her opinion of him. "You seem trustworthy enough," she said slowly. "Not near as terrible as the countless others who sought me out in search of the diadem. I suppose it won't hurt to tell you….I stole the diadem from my mother."

Harry blinked in surprise at the admission, but didn't dare interrupt.

Helena sighed wearily and drifted a few paces away from Harry. "I was tired of living in her shadow, of only being known as the daughter of the brilliant Rowena Ravenclaw. So I ran away with it. She never told anyone of the theft, she didn't try to hunt me down until she became fatally ill. I betrayed her, stole her most prized possession, and yet she still wanted to see me one last time before she died. She sent the Bloody Baron after me, I suppose it was because, though I spurned all of his advances, he loved me, she knew he would never stop searching. He found me eventually, I could hear him approaching so I hid the diadem in the hollow of a tree, and faced him. I refused to return with him and in his anger and his madness he killed me," she pulled aside her cloak and revealed the single dark splotch on her otherwise white gown, "and then he killed himself."

"Where?" Harry whispered. "Where did you die?"

"A forest," Helena said, "in Albania."

"Albania," Harry breathed. The very same place Voldemort had hidden for over a decade, weakened and defeated. "I'm not the first student you've told this story to, am I? You told one before me, he was handsome, charming, he seemed to understand your plight."

"He told me he would return it here, where it belonged. But he lied, he tainted it with dark magic and then hid it away where no one would find it."

"Where? Here in the school?"

"Yes, he returned to the schools year after he graduated, with my mother's diadem, he was very covert, but I saw him, I watched as he hid it in a room on the seventh floor. It does not always exist, but when it does, it gives you whatever you need."

"The Room of Requirement." Harry beamed up at the stately woman and bowed several times. "Thank you, Lady Ravenclaw, thank you so much."

"Are you going to destroy it? My mother's diadem?"

Harry hesitated, before nodding once.

"May I accompany you?"

"Of course."

The odd pair descended to the seventh floor corridor where the Room of Requirement resided and studied the blank wall.

"You wouldn't happen to know what he asked the room for?" Harry asked.

The Gray Lady shook her head.

"Right then." Harry began pacing in front of the room, thinking up various phrases to open the door. Helena offered a few suggestions, but for the most part she watched on in amusement. It was on what had to be his two-hundredth circuit the door appeared and he and Helena were able to gratefully duck into the room, which had been transformed into a labyrinth of old cupboards, crates piled to the roof, and a whole assortment of outdated junk.

"This may take a while," Harry sighed. "What does the diadem look like?"

"It's silver, inlaid with diamonds and sapphires. It resembled a bird, a raven, taking flight."

"All right, keep your eyes peeled. There's so much stuff here, it could be-"

"It's there." Helena floated over several piles of broken chairs and other such junk, Harry, being unable to simply levitate over the towers of rubbish, had to maneuver the crowded, doxy infested labyrinth to where Helena waited beside one of the numerous piles of trash; she pointed to where a tarnished diadem lay beside an acid eroded cupboard. Harry stooped down and gingerly lifted diadem.

"Is it what you were looking for?"

Harry nodded. The dark aura radiating from the diadem was unmistakable.

"How will you destroy it?"

Harry unsheathed his dagger. "This is imbued with basilisk venom, one of the only things that can destroy something so dark." He pushed aside the chipped bust of an ugly old warlock and placed the diadem on the crate it had been perched on.

He was still for a moment, contemplating the best place to stab the tiara, before finally settling on the large sapphire encrusted bird's head. The dagger sunk into the jewel easier than it should have, cracking the stone and chipping the crate beneath it. The Horcruxes reaction was similar to all of the others, a dark, smoke-like soul fragment burst from the fractured jewel, wailing so terribly several piles threatened to topple over. Harry only managed to stumble back several steps before it dissipated into nothing.

"It is done?"

"It's done," Harry said breathlessly.

Helena exhaled shakily, as if she were close to tears, but smiled brilliantly. "Thank you," she passed an icy hand over Harry's cheek.

"Thank _you_, Lady Ravenclaw."

They parted ways not long after, Helena back to Ravenclaw tower and Harry to the Great Hall where everyone was assembled for dinner. He raced along the rows of tables to where Luna was dining with his friends, he pulled her from her seat and spun her in excited circled before placing a smacking kiss directly on her lips.

"Oh, hello Harry," she said, completely unperturbed. "I take it the replica worked."

"Like a charm."

"Uh, Harry?" Ron said hesitantly. "What's gotten into you mate?"

"And what hell are you wearing?" Draco asked.

Harry grinned and pulled the cracked diadem from his bag.

"Is that?"

"It is?"

"How?"

"Luna."

"_Luna?_"

"Luna," Harry confirmed. "Ladies and gentleman we are now one step closer to winning this war." He dropped the diadem onto the table with a victorious grin. "Four down, three to go."

* * *

Harry hummed quietly to himself as he skipped rocks over the Black Lake, laughing when he was forced to dodge the rocks the irritated Giant Squid threw back. He was still on a high from finding and destroying the fourth Horcrux the previous day, not even the brutal training he'd gone through earlier that day could dampen his mood, it was doubtful anything but an outright attack from the dark lord could.

"You know that whole happy thing really doesn't look good on you." Draco appeared at Harry's side almost soundlessly, an odd expression on his face. "You'd scare the firsties with that creepy smile."

Harry shot his friend a mock glare, but the blonde ignored him, simply opting to steal a few rocks from his hands and begin skipping them across the lake.

"What are you doing out here?" the dark haired teen asked. "You said it was too cold to be frolicking out in nature."

"I had to make sure you didn't fall into the lake."

"You're concern for me is touching."

"Yeah, well don't get used to it," Draco snorted.

"Was that all you came out here for?" Harry asked. "To make sure I didn't accidentally kill myself?"

"I wanted to ask you something," Draco admitted, stealing a few more rocks from Harry.

"Ask away."

"I was wondering if we could bring my mother here, to Hogwarts, now that it's properly secured and has so many people to defend it. I mean, she doesn't say much in her letters, but she's lonely and the absence of me and my father are taking a toll on her."

"Of course," Harry said simply. "I'm sorry I didn't think of that sooner, I think your mother would actually be much safer here with all of us to protect her, than in some dusty chalet in the mountains."

Draco sighed in relief and granted Harry a grateful smile. "Thank you, Harry," he said softly. "And not just for this, but for everything else you've done for my mother, and everything you've done for me. Befriending me, helping me learn to think for myself, protecting me from Crabbe, Goyle, _Voldemort_. I love the others, they're amazing friends, but you're my best friend. I'm glad you gave me that choice on the train, I don't even want to fathom what I'd done or where I'd be if you hadn't."

Harry was stunned silent for a moment, he was warmed and slightly taken aback by his usually aloof friend's words and struggled for a moment to find an appropriate, equally heartfelt response.

"Before I met my father," he finally said, "my home life wasn't the best. My family, my uncle especially, was always quick to punish harshly for the smallest of infractions. When I met you, I could see it in your eyes, that same loneliness, that same familiarity with being hurt by people who should have loved you, my father saved me from going down what could have been a really dark path, I figured I'd pass on the favor." He granted Draco a small smile and clasped his hand briefly. "I haven't regretted it once."

* * *

A little over a week later, Narcissa arrived at Hogwarts, looking pale and drawn but otherwise relatively healthy. The Order was somewhat hesitant to allow her asylum within the castle, despite the fact that she had risked her life to defect to their side. They were struggling to see her as anything other than the (former) wife of a notoriously dangerous Death Eater but he never faulted them for their suspicion, it was to be expected in a time of war. She endured their guarded attitudes and sidelong glances with grace befitting of her status. Until, a few weeks after her arrival, she finally proved herself.

It was completely by accident, when six o'clock came and went and Draco failed to arrive for their usual evening walk around the grounds, she ventured from the safety of her private rooms to see what he had gotten up to and found him in the library pouring over books and old newspaper articles with his friends.

"Draco, darling, have you grown tired of me already?"

Her son and his five companions started in surprise when she made her presence known, the youngest Weasley son's elbow knocked into a large tome already balanced precariously on the edge of their cluttered desk and sent it toppling to the ground. He scrambled to recover it, but Narcissa was already retrieving it from where it had fallen at her feet.

"_Heirlooms of the Middle Ages?_" she said, tracing the shimmering gold letters that composed the title. "How fascinating. Do you know several Malfoy family heirlooms are featured in this book?"

"Mother."

Narcissa looked up from where she had been idly thumbing through the large book. "Yes, dear?"

"I'm sorry I got sidetracked, why don't we go for that walk now?"

"Oh no, it's all right, I wouldn't want to pull you away from your friends when you're so obviously busy. What is it you're doing anyway?"

Draco hesitated, looking unsure if he should answer her innocent question.

"Oh," Narcissa said. "I see, it's all right you don't have to tell me." She tried her best to mask her hurt, but she wasn't so sure her wavering smile accomplished that. It was one thing for the Order, virtual strangers, not to trust her, she understood, could respect it even, but her own son…

"Oh, it's not like that at all, Mother!" Draco protested, easily picking up on her feelings. "It's just…it's just…"

"We didn't want to put you in even more danger by making you privy to some things," Harry picked up for Draco. "But that was an obvious blunder on our part, you've more than proved you're capable of taking care of yourself."

He gestured to an open seat at the table and quickly filled Narcissa in on the dark lord's latest attempt at immortality.

"It was quite foolish of us not to have asked you before, Ms. Black," Hermione said once Harry had finished explaining things to her and she had recovered from her initial horror, "you lived with Voldemort for over a year. Did he keep anything especially close to him, something that could have been a Horcrux? Or perhaps he or one of his followers mentioned something?"

"Well there's his snake, Nagini," Narcissa said slowly, "she's not a normal animal, some sort of magical hybrid, the dark lord never went anywhere without her."

Hermione jotted that down in her notes. "That confirms what we already suspected," she murmured. "Was there anything else?"

Narcissa shook her head a frown marred her lovely features as she thought intently. "No…no-_yes! _I do remember something! It was so long ago, but I remember just before you defeated him for that first time, Harry. Bellatrix was bragging about the dark lord entrusting her with something of great value. It was some sort of goblet, a wine cup, she showed it to me before she locked it away."

"A cup?" Blaise asked excitedly. "Hufflepuff's cup?"

"Well, she didn't say anything about Hufflepuff…"

"Do you think you'd remember what it looked like if we showed you a picture of it?" Neville asked, reaching for one of the many books piled on their table and flipping through it quickly.

"I…perhaps."

He finally settled on a page and set the open book in front of Narcissa. "Is this it?" he asked, pointing to a painting of a simple, golden goblet.

Narcissa squinted at the picture, studying it carefully before nodding. "Yes," she said. "That's it."

Draco laughed in amazement. "Do you know where she hid it, Mother?"

"Yes, the dark lord was very adamant she lock it away with the rest of her heirlooms, in the Lestrange Vault."

"The Lestrange Vault?" Ron repeated. "In _Gringotts?_" he heaved a heavy sight. "Great."

"Maybe if we just explained our situation to the goblins they'd retrieve it for us," Hermione said hopefully.

"These are the goblins we're talking about, Hermione," Neville said. "They're not at all interested in wizarding affairs. As long as Voldemort steers clear of their gold, they couldn't care less about our _situation_."

"So…what? We'll have to break in?" Harry asked. "Brilliant, I'm always up for a challenge."

"_Or_," Narcissa cut in before the teens could make any hasty decisions, "I can just walk in and retrieve it. Bellatrix gave me full access to the Lestrange vaults."

There was a stunned silence for several seconds, and then, "You're _kidding_."

A smile tugged at the corners of Narcissa's lips. "I assure you, Mr. Weasley, I am not."

"When was the last time you tried to access them?" Draco asked. "She could have blocked all access the moment you defected."

"That's a possibility," the former Lady Malfoy conceded. "But Bellatrix has been so wrapped up in serving the dark lord, it's likely she forgot all about it. It couldn't hurt to try, could it?"

"No, it couldn't," Harry agreed. "Let's assemble the rest of the Order, talk things through with them. They're still a bit peeved at me for not telling them about the diadem until all of the action was through, it wouldn't do to keep them in the dark again."

Harry and the others wasted no time in calling the Order to the Room of Requirement, their unofficial base of operation, where they were quickly filled in on what had been discovered. The forty plus members spent a good two hours squabbling amongst each other, debating whether Narcissa was trustworthy or not, whether the Horcrux was really there, whether this was all just one big trap. It took the exchange of several hexes, a few broken noses, and a rough reprimand from Moody before it was decided that Narcissa, in the company of Kingsley and Tonks, would go to Gringotts and attempt to retrieve the Horcrux from the Lestrange Vault.

They left that same night and returned within the hour, with one golden cup in their possession.

"It was almost too easy," Tonks said upon their return. "The goblins took her key without any question and led us straight to the vault. There were a few curses on the cup to keep thieves from getting their hands on it, but they cancelled those no problem and just handed it over."

Harry could feel the malignant aura coming from the cup, as he had all of the other Horcruxes, but to relieve suspicion, he allowed the Order to pass it among themselves, casting various spells on it to confirm that a piece of the dark lord's soul did reside in the cup.

"So now what?" Hestia Jones, a long time Order member, asked.

"I think Narcissa should be allowed to destroy the Horcrux," Harry said. An immediate wave of protests sounded across the room, but he calmly spoke over them. "After all, if it wasn't for her, we wouldn't have the Horcrux to begin with."

That shut all of the naysayers up immediately.

Harry drew his dagger and held it out to Draco's nervous looking mother. "Would you do the honors, Ms. Black?"

She hesitantly accepted the dagger, then looked down at the innocuous looking cup Kingsley had set before her. "How should I do it?"

Harry lay the cup on its side and secured it to the table with a sticking charm. "Just stab it. The Horcrux might attempt to put up a bit of a fight, but the basilisk venom will destroy it before it makes much headway."

Narcissa nodded and tightened her grip on the dagger, then slammed it down at the cup, severing it clean in two. There was the customary tortured scream and cloud of thick black smoke billowing into the air and then it was over, the Horcrux was destroyed.

"That's it?" Narcissa asked. "Is it over?"

"Almost, Mum," Draco said, pressing a kiss to his mother's cheek. "Almost."

* * *

Odin stroked the downy feathers of his familiar, Hugin, one last time before allowing the raven to take off and join his companion, Munin, in flight. He sighed quietly as he watched the two birds fly further and further away into the distance until they were no more than inky specks in the sky. At times he wished he could join them, wished he could soar high above his kingdom and all of his troubles, see the world from the eyes of his familiars.

"What has you so deep in thought, my king?" Frigga's soft voice pulled him from his silent musings. "It seems these days you are always troubled. Are you not happy?"

Odin stepped away from the window to where his wife was sitting at a large, gilded vanity, slipping jewel encrusted combs into her braided hair. "It is difficult to be happy with this affliction looming over me."

"You mustn't look at it as such," Frigga said, setting aside her last comb and turning to face Odin. "You have done all you can for Asgard, for our sons, and for me, it is time for you to rest."

"Do you think I have made the right decision?"

"Only time will truly tell."

Odin shook his head. "He is not ready. He is too young, too reckless."

"He won't be alone," Frigga soothed. "Loki will be at his side to give him counsel. Have faith in your sons."

Odin looked down at his hands and found they were trembling uncontrollably, a phenomena that had been occurring more often than not, he curled them into fists and resolutely stared at the appendages until they stilled. Frigga placed her hands over his and looked up at him worriedly.

"If only we had more time," Odin whispered.

"For once, our son needs something we cannot provide," Frigga smiled ruefully. "It will be a learning experience for all of us."

"I can fight it, a little longer."

"No," Frigga said firmly. "You've put it off too long! I worry for you."

Odin smiled and gently touched her cheek. "I've destroyed the most fearsome monsters, devastated whole worlds, laid waste to mighty kingdoms, and still you worry for me?"

"Always."

He pressed a brief kiss to Frigga's lips then helped her to his feet. "Come," he said, slipping the last of her combs into her hair. "Let us not keep our sons waiting any longer."

Thor and Loki were sitting across from each other at the grand dining table, sipping at ale and chatting amicably as they waited for their parents' arrival. The moment Odin and Frigga were seated, servants carried their meal to the table and they ate in relative silence. It was only when the last plate had been cleared away did Odin finally speak up.

"Tension between Asgard and Jotunnheim have been mounting these last few decades, conflict is on the rise. But I am tired, I am old, it will not be long before I fall into the Odinsleep, not long after that I will fall permanently in battle and join my ancestors in the halls of Valhalla. I find it only prudent that I choose my successor and begin making the proper arrangements before that is to happen."

Frigga noted that one of her sons perked up in his seat, obviously interested, while the other remained largely indifferent.

"Thor. You, my son, will take on the mantle of King of Asgard, with your brother Loki at your side as counsel."

Thor's fingers tightened excitedly around Mjolnir's handle as he bowed his head. "I will make you proud, father."

"As will I," Loki murmured.

"Of that I have no doubt."

"We must celebrate!" Thor cried. "Bring out the ale! Where are the women?"

"As fun as women and ale sounds," Loki said, rising from his seat, "I'm afraid I have other matters that must be attended to."

Thor visibly wilted. "You have no time for festivities? Where is it you are always running off to?"

"I'm not always _running off_ anywhere," Loki frowned.

"A fortnight ago you left in the middle of battle with marauders in Anaheim! We celebrated for days and you were not seen among our comrades once."

"He's right, Loki," Frigga said, "Many times I've gone looking for you only for the guards to tell me you've disappeared into the city. And you're always so preoccupied. What has so you so distracted?"

"Nothing," Loki said tersely. "Unlike Thor, my interests do not lie solely in women, fighting, and ale. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be off."

"What you said is true, Thor?" Odin asked once Loki had departed. "He disappears often?"

"Yes, whenever asked he, as you just saw, skillfully evades answering."

Odin leaned back in his seat with a frown, he would have to find out what his youngest was up to, with Thor's coronation impending he would have no time to deal with Loki's mischief.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

After Dumbledore's death, the Order of the Phoenix had all but given up hope that they and their loved ones would ever see Voldemort defeated. His forces were simply too formidable, it was vast and merciless and made up of a number of ruthless insane wizards and witches ready to tear apart anyone, be it man, woman, or child, who got in their way. And they were led by a man who may as well have been immortal for all the good their efforts of taking him down had been.

The Order and all those who fought with them operated under the assumption that their odds of winning the war were slim to none.

But then Harry and his friends showed up.

Some of the adults were unable to take them seriously at first, they were unable to see them as anything more than a bunch of foolish, albeit moderately talented, children who were going to get themselves killed trying to fight a grown up's fight. Those beliefs were put to rest when those children killed over two dozen Death Eaters on the battlefield, fought with and against formidable wizards and witches to regain Hogwarts and in many skirmishes after, and, not only revealed how to defeat Voldemort, but took the first steps in actually doing it.

The children had drastically different ideas on how to deal with the war, they believed they needed to attack before their adversaries did, that there could be no more pulling punches, they had to hit just as hard and just as fast as the Death Eaters. The adults, however, believed in remaining on the defensive, fighting only when the Death Eaters attacked, and with non-deadly force, lest they become just as bad as the people they were fighting.

Those ideals went out the window the moment the fifth Horcrux was destroyed.

The end was in sight, there were two soul fragments left, the snake and the one that resided in Voldemort. According to Snape, Nagini was never far from her master, if they found one they would find the other, but not if they remained hidden behind Hogwarts' wards, they had to go out and find Voldemort themselves.

Bill, Snape, and Narcissa spearheaded a team focused solely on finding a way around Malfoy Manors' extensive wards, the rest of the Order and associates used information given to them by their two defected Death Eaters to attack the homes, businesses, and popular haunts of Voldemort's followers, and they didn't hold back, any Death Eater they faced was met with deadly force.

Hope could bend ones morals just as well, if not better, than despair could.

* * *

When Voldemort had first been informed of Dumbledore's death, he had foolishly allowed himself to believe that, with the barest amount of effort, the war would be his for the taking. He had not given Harry Potter the credit he deserved, the boy was wreaking havoc on his carefully laid plans.

Potter and his motley crew had posed a problem when they'd killed over twenty of his Death Eaters the night he took Hogwarts and the Ministry, but he didn't start seeing them as a true threat until they had somehow convinced the rest of the peace loving Order to abandon their stunners and disarmers with spells with a more vicious, deadly intent. They were no longer lying in wait for attacks, they were initiating more than half of the skirmishes they got into and were _winning_. If Voldemort didn't strike back hard, he may not come out of this war the victor, or even alive for that matter.

A sudden chill momentarily froze him to the core, a quick look down at his arm and the unnaturally dark veins bulging from beneath his pale skin confirmed that it wasn't from fear, but something far more sinister. When the chill receded, his fury returned with a vengeance, burning hot and bright. "Parkinson," he shouted.

Immediately, the Death Eater tripped into his study. "Yes, my lord?"

"Where are my potions?"

"Here, my lord."

Parkinson produced three ghastly colored potions and handed them to the dark lord. He knocked the magic stabilizers back in quick succession with absolutely no hesitation, almost immediately the chill lingering in his bones dissipated and the veins in his arms lightened every so subtly.

His attempts at finding someone to heal him of whatever strange affliction was ailing him and his magic had been met with very little success. He was slowly losing control of his magic and he had no idea how to stop it.

* * *

Harry saw very little of Severus Snape outside of Order meetings and the few times the bat like potion master ventured into the Great Hall for a meal, they were both busy doing their own things for the war and had very little time for social visits. So when Snape pulled Harry away from his friends one evening after dinner and requested his immediate presence in his personal quarters, he was more than a little confused.

"Would you like a drink, Potter?" Snape asked, when they arrived in his sparsely decorated suite.

"Sure," Harry said. He hesitantly accepted the glass of firewhiskey Snape poured for him, then sat down in one of two comfortable chairs set before the fireplace.

"You have made much progress in the Horcrux hunt," Snape said, sitting in the chair opposite of him. "You've successfully destroyed more Horcruxes in a handful of months than Dumbledore could in a year."

Harry shrugged bashfully. "I had help."

"Yes, you did." Snape sipped at his glass of firewhiskey, seemingly lost in his thought for several minutes. "I have information pertaining to the Horcrux hunt you need to know, the headmaster thought it prudent you not be told until the end was in sight, I think the destruction of five of eight Horcruxes is suitably near the end, don't you agree?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah, su-Wait, eight? There are seven Horcruxes, Dumbledore said there were only seven!"

"Voldemort only meant to make seven. And as far as he knows, he only _has_ seven. Dumbledore, however, knew differently."

"So Voldemort unintentionally made an eighth Horcrux?" A heavy feeling settled in his gut. "It could be anywhere! _Anything!_ How are we supposed to find it?"

"Calm yourself, Potter. Finding the Horcrux will not be a problem, we already know exactly what and where it is. It's the destroying it that poses an issue."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. "Is it under some heavy protections? Should we get Bill started on breaking them?"

"No." Snape sighed tiredly and threw back the rest of his drink. "I do not-I don't know how…Perhaps it would be best if I show you."

"Show me?"

Snape stood from his seat and retrieved an all too familiar basin from his cupboard and placed it on the coffee table. "Yes, show you. I'm sure you're familiar with how a pensieve works by now?" he said as pulled a long, silvery strand of memory from his temple and dropped it into the swirling waters of the pensieve.

Harry nodded mutely.

"Good. Go on then." Snape walked across the room to the small liquor cabinet built into the wall and refilled his glass.

"You're not going in with me?" Harry asked.

Snape shook his head and took a deep gulp of whiskey. "Once was enough."

He looked away when the teen disappeared into the pensieve and attempted to drown himself in the bottom of his glass, but he couldn't help but replay that horrible moment over and over in his head, reliving the anger and the despair and the sense of injustice he had felt in that moment.

_"You kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment?"_

Potter was too good of a man to deserve his fate; he was too young, too bright, too ambitious, and yet, in the end, he would be left yet another a casualty of the dark lord's madness.

_"…you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter…"_

When Harry was ejected from the pensieve, he landed in an ungainly heap on the floor. For several minutes, he made no move to stand or so much as acknowledge Snape's presence, until slowly he looked up and locked eyes with the dour potions master. "Was it true?"

He didn't elaborate, Snape didn't need him to. He nodded.

Harry bowed his head and made a small noise in the back of his throat, the only sign of distress he managed to convey before an otter swam into the room on invisible waves and delivered a quick, urgent message.

"Diagon Alley is under attack, several high profile Death Eaters have been spotted. Portkey leaves the Entrance Hall in five minutes."

Harry watched as the Patronus dissipated, then let out a strained, disbelieving chuckle. "No rest for the weary," he murmured and pushed himself to his feet.

Harry didn't say another word to Snape, he turned and marched to the Entrance Hall on numb feet, he grabbed hold of the portkey within seconds of its departure.

The moment they landed on the cracked cobblestone, in the middle of the now familiar mayhem of battle, it was evident that that the odds were against them this fight, the Death Eaters outnumbered the Order three to one. But Harry was not fazed, he was off immediately, fighting like a demon straight out of hell, cutting through the ranks of Death Eaters like butter; all it took was a flick of his wand or a twist of his wrist and they were down. It wasn't long before he was categorized as the real threat and he found himself in the epicenter of a sea of snarling dark wizards. He could see his comrades all around him fighting to push back the hoard, but to no avail, there were too many of them. All Harry could do was laugh, a reckless rage had taken over him; magic rolled off of him in sheets as he blasted one Death Eater through a window and decapitated another. He was invincible.

Until he wasn't.

* * *

Loki was in the banquet hall with his brother and parents selecting the spread for the coronation feast when he got the call. When the stone first began heating up, he was fondly exasperated by his son's horrible timing, but then it continued to grow hotter and he knew immediately something was wrong.

"Where are you going Loki? We've not finished."

"I must leave, it is urgent," Loki said, already heading for the door.

"More urgent than your brother's coronation?"

"Yes."

"Loki," Odin said, "stop at once. You will not leave until dismissed."

Loki forced himself to calm down, it wouldn't do to give his parents any more cause for suspicion. "May I be dismissed?"

Odin seemed unaware of his son's agitation. "No. Sit down and stop acting a fool, we have no time for your antics."

The stone in Loki's pocket was searing his skin through the thick fabric of his pants. "I am not up any antics," he snarled. "And I am afraid if you won't dismiss me, then I will have to dismiss myself."

Before he could even take a single step forward, the doors leading into the hall sealed themselves shut.

"You will not leave until we are through."

Magic sparked along Loki's fingers. "Open the door or I will open it myself."

"You will remain here!" Odin shouted, rising to his feet. "I may be old, but I am still the Allfather, boy, and hold far more power than your little parlor tricks ever could! Those doors will not be opening, especially not by you."

Loki's responded by tearing the doors from the hinges with a deafening shriek. There was a terrible silence as the two men stared at each other, then Loki dipped into a mocking bow. "I and my parlor tricks are in awe of your power, _Allfather_," he sneered.

And then he was gone.

* * *

Blaise struggled to keep himself grounded, focused on his simple task, as pure bedlam raged around him. His hands were pressed into Harry's stomach, attempting to staunch the blood flowing from his various wounds, Madame Pomfrey was buzzing around his bedside, casting spell after spell on Harry and crying out in despair when none had any effect. In the background the rest of his friends were squabbling over the stone they had retrieved from the mokeskin pouch Harry always wore around his neck, while the Order ran around the hospital wing shouting out suggestions and accusations in a manner that was _incredibly_ unhelpful.

No one was entirely sure how or even when it had happened, but Harry had been grievously injured during the battle. He had been hit by several bone breaking hexes and a skin boiling curse on his arm, but those were healed with very little problem, it was the dark curse that had torn through his torso rupturing his stomach and tearing his intestines that posed a problem. Not even Madam Pomfrey's strongest healing spell could close the wound or even slow the heavy bleeding. She had enlisted Blaise's help in trying to manually slow the bleeding while she attempted to heal some of the internal damage.

The school Healer was doing everything in her power to heal Harry, but Blaise could see she was losing hope with every unsuccessful spell she cast. And yet Blaise felt no panic, or the hopelessness Pomfrey was exhibiting; Draco, Hermione, Neville, and Ron were summoning Loki, all they had to do was keep Harry alive long enough for his father to arrive and heal him.

The chaos reached new levels when an urgently shrill beeping sounded above the shouting and Madam Pomfrey's movements became, if possible, even more frantic.

"What's going on?" Blaise shouted, tossing aside the blood sodden sheet he'd been using to put pressure on Harry's cursed wounds and snatching the clean one from the bed beside him. "What's that sound?"

"It's the spell monitoring his pulse. His heart stopped."

Madam Pomfrey's hands were impressively steady as she placed the tip of her wand on Harry's chest, she murmured a spell and a sudden jolt seemed to shoot through his body. For a moment the incessant beeping was silenced by a heavy thud and hope bloomed across Pomfrey's face, but then it returned, just as deafeningly shrill as before, and the tentative hope disappeared. She tried several more times, each time ended up with the same result.

"We're losing him!" Pomfrey shouted.

"What do we do?" Blaise asked.

"I don't know."

A sensation like an electric current ran down Blaise's spine and the temperature in the room seemed to drop twenty degree. "It doesn't matter," he said, relief sweeping through his body. "You may want to step back."

"Step back?" Madam Pomfrey spluttered incredulously. "What-"

Pomfrey's words were cut off when the hospital wing's double doors swung open with a tremendous crash, the Order immediately trained their wands on the tall, regal stranger who strode into the room. Predatory green eyes scanned carelessly over the tensed wizards and witches, but the moment they landed on Harry's bloody, unconscious form they darkened dangerously.

"What happened?" Loki growled, primal fury in his tone, he crossed the room faster than humanly possible and began examining his son's wounds.

"It happened in a raid," Hermione said tremulously. "A Death Eater hit him with a dark curse that won't let our magic heal him. We're hoping that yours can."

"Of course it can," the trickster god said. "This magic is powerful, very intricate, but it is nothing when compared to mine."

The Order seemed unsure of what to do. This man was an unknown, a stranger, but Harry's friends seemed to know him and he said he could heal Harry. If they allowed him to do his work, he could either save the wounded teen or he could hurry the curse's job along, if they stepped in and said something, tried to stop the man, Harry would undoubtedly die. It was a chance they would have to take.

"The curse feeds off of your magic," Loki said, "the more you use on him the stronger it gets. I will need to remove it before I can heal him, but it will be unpleasant."

"Unpleasant?" Ron asked shakily.

Loki placed a hand on Harry's stomach, the curse's point of contact, and sent a surge of magic into Harry's body. Immediately, the teen arched off of the bed as a terrible scream tore from his throat.

The Order surged forward, wands raised and curses on their lips, but they froze when Loki snarled fearsomely at them. "_Stay back_."

He forced himself to ignore the agonized screams of his son and went back to work, slowly he worked on removing the curse until it had been completely purged from his system, then he began repairing the damage done to Harry's organs and magically stitching the wound together.

It was an agonizingly slow process, hours ticked by, the sun set and early evening gave way to night, but when Loki finally collapsed in the chair at the bedside, Harry was completely healed.

"He's all right," Loki whispered. "He'll live."

Ron, Hermione, Neville, Draco, and Blaise immediately crowded around Harry's bed, babbling in relief and frantically shooting questions at Loki about Harry's health, his recovery, when he would wake up. The man smiled tiredly but patiently answered each of their questions, gently running his hands through his now peacefully sleeping son's hair as he did.

When they finally exhausted the last of their questions, the teens settled down on the bed beside Harry's, leaving room for the hesitantly grateful, but incredibly confused Order to step forward.

"Who are you?" Remus asked.

Loki assessed the wary werewolf carefully, before allowing a lazy smile to spread across his face. "I am Loki of Asgard. Harry's father."

* * *

Draco had never seen the Order quite so intimidated, not even when facing some truly fearsome Death Eaters. They were loosely grouped around Harry's bed, staring slack jawed and pale faced at the infuriatingly nonchalant man lounging on the bed beside Harry's unconscious form, a vast difference from their previous behavior.

Loki's unexpected statement had thrown the adults into a frenzy of shouted accusations and exclamations of disbelief, he endured the chaos with an amused smirk, content to just sit back and allow them to tire themselves out. But then wands were drawn and his unconscious son and his friends were suddenly in danger of being accidentally hexed. He was on his feet immediately, he towered over everyone in the room and fixed them with a scowl so fearsome Voldemort would have cowered away in fear. The tongue lashing that followed left the Order terrified and just a bit in awe of the imposing man, it didn't take long after that to convince at least the people closest to Harry that Loki_ was_ his father and didn't hail from earth. There was still anger and a great deal of disbelief, but that had been expected, Loki could almost respect their caution.

After things had settled down, the Order slowly began filing out of the room, off to take care of their duties or check in on their families, until only a handful of people remained and even that thinned out when several hours had passed and Harry still hadn't woken.

"When did you say he was going to wake up?" Hermione asked.

It had to be the thousandth time one of the five teens had asked Loki that question, but he couldn't find it in himself to feel irritated, he too was anxious for his son to wake up. "It'll be several more hours at least, I did most of the work for him, but his body needs to heal what even my magic can't. It will take some time, but he'll make a full recovery."

"I'm sorry I let this happen," Blaise said solemnly. "I was right there when he was hit, I should have been faster. But Harry was so unlike himself today, I don't know what got into him but he was fighting as if he _expected_ to die."

"War does funny things to men," Loki said. "I've seen it happen. Don't be sorry, any of you, or the guilt will eat at you until there's nothing left. There's very little that could have been done, it's a harsh reality, but it's one you must accept if you want to come out of this war not only alive, but with at least a modicum of your sanity."

"We need to train harder," Draco said. "Train longer. We've been slacking since the cup was destroyed when now should be the time we're working our hardest. The end is in sight and I want all of us to survive this war."

"Then we'll train harder," Neville said. "We'll go back to how it was this summer, training all day every day. We'll do whatever it takes."

Draco nodded, pleased with his friend's decision. "Whatever it takes."

* * *

Harry woke the next day in the early hours of the morning, the hospital wing was still dark, the dimly lit torches were the only source of light in the room. His friends were piled in the bed beside his, sleeping peacefully and another figure was slumped over in a chair stationed at his bedside, his face was hidden in his hands, but the long, dark hair and lean form were all too telling.

Harry reached over and prodded the sleeping figure. "Dad?"

Loki's transition from sleep to awareness was immediate, the moment Harry poked at him he was awake and alert. "Harry."

The teen gave his father a week grin. "I'm awake."

"How do you feel?" Loki murmured gently. "Are you in any pain?"

"I'm a bit sore, but it could have been a lot worse. The spell I was hit with was pretty serious."

Loki exhaled shakily and nodded. "Yes, it was. The wound was severe, it would have been fatal if I had not arrived when I did."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered.

"Don't be, little trickster. This is war, there were bound to be some close calls."

"You're taking this rather well," Harry smiled. "I remember first year you were ready to pull me out of Hogwarts and run away to some isolated corner of the universe after my first encounter with Voldemort."

"Running away is no longer an option, you'd spend your every waking moment fighting me if I tried," Loki said ruefully. "So I'll have to remain with you, make sure you don't get yourself into any more trouble."

"You're staying?" Harry asked. "For how long?"

"I was thinking a few months," Loki said. "Maybe until you wrap things up with this Voldemort fellow."

"What about Uncle Thor and the coronation?"

"I'm sure they can manage planning the tedious details of the ceremony without me," Loki said carelessly. "You have more need of me here."

"Grandfather will be furious."

"He will," Loki agreed. "And yet I can't find myself caring."

Harry grinned. "So you'll be fighting with us?"

"I'll do as much as I can without drawing attention to myself. I left my father on slightly less than pleasant terms, he'll have Heimdall keep an eye out for me, the spells I've weaved over myself can only do so much to keep me hidden."

"You can help with research, we've been trying to crack Malfoy Manors' ward for weeks, but they're being particularly difficult. As the head of the Malfoy family, Lucius Malfoy is the only one who knows how to get past them."

"Why not ask him?"

"He's a Death Eater, Dad," Harry said. "He's completely devoted to Voldemort, there's no way he'd ever tell us."

"Not _voluntarily_. I'm more than capable of persuading men to give up secrets they would never normally considering divulging."

"Torture?"

Loki shook his head. "Nothing that messy, I assure you. All you have to do is get him here to Hogwarts and I can do the rest."

"That'll be quite the task, but it could work."

Loki grinned. "Of course it will, I came up with it after all."

Harry rolled his eyes and turned onto his stomach, ignoring the ache the movement caused. "I'm going to sleep, it's too early to deal with you."

* * *

Harry was released from the hospital wing later that day, after Madam Pomfrey gave him a thorough examination to ensure that there was no trace of the curse lingering in his system. The first thing he did was head down to kitchens with his father and friends to quench the hunger gnawing at his gut, all Pomfrey had been willing to feed him was a weak chicken broth. Once that had been taken care of, he broke away from the group to shower and change into some fresh clothes.

The near scalding water loosened the tension knotting Harry's shoulders, the newly healed skin of his torso was tender, but he scrubbed furiously at himself until all traces of the dried blood stiffening his skin was gone, he scrubbed until his skin was bright pink and stinging under the scorching water. But he ignored the pain and continued frantically rubbing his body with the washcloth. No matter how hot he made the water or how much soap he used, he couldn't get rid of the feeling of being dirty.

Being grievously injured hadn't given him much time to think about the horrifying secret Snape had revealed to him, but now that he had been left with only his thoughts as company, it was all he could think about. He was a Horcrux, a _fucking _Horcrux, it didn't matter that it was unintentional, he was carrying a fragment of Voldemort soul. The only way he could kill Voldemort, could end his reign of terror and secure his family's future was if he died.

_Neither can live_…. Those were probably the only words in the whole damn prophecy that were true.

"I don't want to die." It was only when he spoke and heard the tears clogging his throat did he realize that he was crying. "I don't want to die. _I don't want to die._" But, honestly, what choice did he have?

Neither could live if the world was to survive.

* * *

Several weeks later, the Order was preparing to enter the first stages of their plan to break into Malfoy Manor. They had taken Loki's plan to kidnap Lucius and forcefully extract the secrets of the Manor from him eagerly, it would take a lot of effort and more than a bit of luck, but thus far it was their best (not to mention only) plan.

How to subdue the Malfoy patriarch long enough to transport him to Hogwarts and properly secure him had been carefully planned out; each Order member had been given a specific task they were expected to execute and Loki explained in great detail how he would get the information from Lucius.

The Order intended to carry on attacking the Death Eaters' properties until Lucius eventually showed his face, when he did they would nab him and leave behind a doppelganger to trick Voldemort into believing he had been killed during the battle. If the Dark Lord even suspected Lucius was still alive and in enemy hands, he would immediately assume his location had been compromised and move elsewhere.

It took almost a month before Lucius finally showed his face during one of their skirmishes, the Order immediately fell into position. While the Death Eaters around him were distracted, Order members surrounded the Malfoy patriarch and overwhelmed him with a barrage of stunners, they quickly apparated away, leaving the doppelganger lying bloody and defeated in the dust.

"That was almost too easy," Ron said, once the battle had ended and he and his friends had joined the rest of the Order back at Hogwarts. Lucius had been taken to the Room of Requirement, where he would be wrung of every last bit of useful information he had.

"You call that easy?" Blaise asked incredulously. "I almost got hit with a castration curse."

"I said _almost, _didn't I?"

The six friends as well as the rest of the Order were also in the Room of Requirement, though it had been split into two, separate rooms. They were there for almost a full hour, waiting patiently (for the most part) for Loki to be done. When he and the three Order members assigned to watch over the proceedings finally stepped into the room, everyone was immediately on their feet, eager to hear how things had gone.

"He gave us everything we need to know," Kingsley said simply.

"How difficult will it be for us to break into the Manor?" Remus asked.

"It will be nearly impossible," Loki said, pulling up a chair to seat himself in. "According to our guest, the wards around Malfoy Manor are so powerful it would take almost a year and a whole army of curse breakers to get past them. The only person able to bring down the wards is the Head of the Malfoy family and it has to be of his own free will. He will not be able to do it if he is under the influence of any sort of spell."

"He'll never tear the wards down of his own free will," Mr. Weasley said. "Not if it will help the Order."

"That's correct, Lucius would never do it," Loki agreed. "But Draco would."

"What?" the young blonde asked.

"You are the heir of the Malfoy family, if something were to happen to the current lord you would become Lord, no matter any past transgressions to the family."

"And as Lord I would be able to bring down the wards."

"Correct."

"But in order for me to become Lord of the Malfoy family, my father must die."

A solemn look settled on Loki's face. "Correct."

Draco looked to where his mother was sitting beside Snape, she was pale and tears brightened her eyes, but she met her son's gaze head on and nodded firmly.

"Do it."

"Draco…" Neville said hesitantly.

"No mercy, right?" Draco said his voice wavering only slightly. "If we want to win, we have to kill every last Death Eater that gets in our way. He's a Death Eater, isn't he? And he's in our way."

"This is your dad though, mate."

Draco shook his head. "He's not my dad, never really was, he's Voldemort's servant and he always will be. Kill him." He crossed the room and sat beside his mother, taking her trembling hand in his.

There was a moment of indecision, then Loki slowly stood and returned to the room Lucius was confined in. He closed the door behind him, but Lucius could still be heard shouting threats and obscenities at the man before…_silence. _

Narcissa began to cry when Loki returned, holding a pretentiously jeweled ring, the same one Lucius always wore on the pinkie finger of his left hand. It was the Malfoy family's signet ring, meant to be worn by the head of the family only. Draco was stone faced as he accepted the ring and slipped it onto his finger with no resistance, if the family magic had rejected him, he would not have been able to put it on.

He was now head of the Malfoy family, the Manor was theirs for the taking.

* * *

"Harry, can I speak with you?"

Harry felt his gut clench at the quiet request, he'd been purposely avoiding Remus since Loki had revealed himself as his father. He had been one of Lily and James' best friend before their deaths and yet they hadn't told him about their son's heritage, and neither had Harry. The teen had come to love and respect the gentle werewolf, he didn't want to see the hurt his keeping such an enormous secret had caused Remus, but he couldn't deny him his request.

"Of course, Moony."

The older man joined Harry in the shade of the large birch tree overlooking the lake. It was a beautiful view, especially now that the weather was beginning to warm up, but Harry seemed too wrapped up in his thoughts to enjoy it.

Remus gently nudged the teen with his shoulder. "I'm worried about you."

Harry's brow rose, that hadn't been what he was expecting. "Worried?"

"I know we haven't seen much of each other outside of training and meetings, but I like to think I know you well enough to be able to tell when something is troubling you, something more than this war and your inevitable face off with Voldemort. I can see it in the way you've been training, you're desperate and angry, you're fighting as if you don't plan on making it out of this alive." Remus looked over at Harry's tense form worriedly. "Do you?"

"I…of course."

"For the son of the god of lies, that wasn't at all convincing."

Harry tried to glare at the man, but he didn't have the energy to maintain it. "I haven't allowed myself to get my hopes up," he admitted. "Voldemort is so much older and more experienced than I am, there's always a chance I won't survive."

"It seems as if you believe there's more than just a chance. Do you know something I don't?"

"I know a lot of things you don't ."

Remus rolled his eyes. "You know that's not what I meant, brat."

Harry smiled. "Yeah, I know."

"I won't make you talk about it if you don't want to. Just know I'm here for you whenever you need me."

"You're not angry with me?"

Remus frowned in confusion. "Why would I be angry?"

"I didn't tell you I wasn't James' son."

"Oh…no, I'm not angry. I'll admit, I was a bit hurt at first, James was my best friend, and yet he'd never told me about Loki, but then I realized he hadn't said anything, not because he didn't trust me, but because your parentage honestly didn't matter to him. James loved you more than you could believe, it didn't matter that you weren't his flesh and blood, he loved you as if you were his own."

"Loved me enough to die for me."

"Exactly. Your parentage matters just as much to me as it did to him, you're still the same baby who had me wrapped around his tiny little fingers the moment he laid those big green eyes on me, you're still my cub."

Harry let out a soft exhalation of relief and granted his surrogate uncle a beaming smile. "Thank you."

Remus ruffled Harry's hair and returned his smile with a gentle one of his own. "For what?"

* * *

A week after his conversation with Remus, Loki pulled Harry away from his friends to the reasonable privacy of the Astronomy tower.

"The Order has begun planning the attack on Malfoy Manor," Loki said simply, settling precariously at the edge of the tower.

"They have," Harry agreed. "They don't want to hold off for much longer, they want to push our advantage while we have it."

"Do you think you're ready to face Voldemort?"

"I don't think I'll ever be ready."

"Neither will I," Loki sighed. "I have full confidence in your abilities, but Voldemort is ruthless, he will not go down without a fight, I would hate to see you hurt."

"It can't be prevented."

"Perhaps not, but I'll do everything in my power to make sure the damage is as minimal as possible."

"How do you intend to do that?"

"I will be visiting some…acquaintances later this evening, if all goes well you need not worry about Voldemort anymore."

"And if all does not go well?"

"Then we'll look into other methods."

Harry nodded. "So you'll be going back to Asgard?"

"No, my contacts do no live on Asgard, they do not reside in any of the nine realms."

"Where then?" Harry asked.

Loki shrugged. "Their home makes up the roots of Yggdrasil, they have been there long before I even existed and they will remain long after."

"Who are they?"

"No one you should worry about, just know that they are powerful, and if they are feeling agreeable, will work miracles on your behalf."

Loki smoothly rose to his feet and embraced his son. "I must be going now, I have a long journey ahead of me."

"When will you be back?"

"It should not take me more than a few days."

"I'll hold you to it, then," Harry said, reluctantly stepping from his father's embrace. "Be safe."

"Always." Loki kissed the top of Harry's head, then transformed into a bird and leapt from the tower.

Harry left the tower, intending to search out his friends, but instead he found Luna sitting on the corridor floor with her chin perched on the windowsill. She was speaking softly to a small, black songbird that was pecking feverishly at the open window.

"Is he saying anything interesting?" Harry asked, sliding down onto the floor beside Luna.

She shrugged. "It sounds fascinating, but he's pecking so much I can't make out what he's saying," she said. "Something about falling skies and empty eyes."

"That doesn't sound pleasant at all."

"Jackdaws rarely have anything pleasant to say."

"They why do you talk to them?"

"Because it's always interesting."

Harry nodded in understanding. "That's kind of what it's like to talk to you." He stood and brushed the dust from his pants before holding a hand out to Luna. "You want to get something to eat?"

"Can we have Jackdaw pie?"

The bird shrieked angrily and flew away.

"Was his message really that bad?"

Luna nodded firmly. "Yes."

"Jackdaw pie it is then."

* * *

Loki forced himself to breathe deep and evenly as he pushed through the mist; it was dense, unnaturally so, he couldn't even see his own hand when it was only a few inches away from his face, but he slogged through with a dogged determination. He knew he was getting close, he could feel it, the wild, natural magic of the place was thicker and even more suffocating than the mist, and the roots of the enormous tree stretching and twisting into the cosmos were now as tall as he was.

When he deemed he had traveled far enough, Loki stopped walking, coming to a rest between two hulking roots. "Ladies Fate?" he spoke softly, feeling no need to speak any louder, they would hear him. "I am Loki, son of Odin. I seek an audience with you."

"You are no son of Odin."

Loki felt his breath leave him in a great whoosh of air when three creatures, unlike any he had faced before, effortlessly formed from the mist. They were beautiful but timeless, neither young nor old, and had eyes the color of molten silver, in them all of the nine realms and further could be seen. They moved in perfect synchronization, their cloaks, made of shadow and smoke, made nary a whisper as they circled him like hungry, ever watchful vultures.

"I beg your pardon," Loki said hesitantly, "but I am unsure what you mean. I was born to the house of Odin, I am the son of the king."

"Son of _a _king," none of the three women's mouths moved, but he heard the words as if they'd been spoken aloud, "but not the one you've been led to believe."

"Odin is not my father? Then who?"

"There is ice in your veins, little prince. Hidden, so very well hidden, but nothing remains hidden from us."

Loki felt his stomach drop. "What is this ice you speak of?"

"You sought an audience with us, little prince, but it was not to question us about your heritage. Speak quickly."

The trickster god was torn, he was desperate to understand what their cryptic words meant, but the Norns were fickle creatures, it was a wonder they had said so much already or even shown up at all. He would do what he had come here to do, then seek answers.

"My youngest and most dear child, Haraldr, has inherited his mother's mortality, his life will pass in the blink of an eye when compared to my endless years. I wish to change that."

"You wish for _us _to change that."

"Yes."

"What is it you would offer us in return?"

"Anything," Loki said immediately.

"That is a dangerous promise to make."

"Name it and it will be yours."

The three sisters made a sound that was eerily reminiscent of laughter. "You could offer nothing that we would desire. We are not worldly beings, we have no interest in material goods."

"Then do it for my son, for the life he will never get to live among his people, among his family."

"It cannot be done. We cannot do something for nothing."

"Take my life then." The sisters stopped circling him, suddenly deathly still. "Consider it an exchange, take the millennia I would live and give them to my son. Without him my life is meaningless anyway."

"Such devotion, such love," the women murmured, "it is admirable, but that is not the way of things."

"Why?" Loki whispered desperately.

"Your life is meaningless to us. No matter the immortality or longevity they boast, all men will die, be it by their enemy's blade or their own hand."

Overcome with despair, Loki fell to his knees and stared beseechingly up at the three women, this was his only chance, if the fates couldn't help him, then who could? "I beg you," he whispered. "Save my son from this curse. Change his fate."

The sisters gazed silently at him, for a moment Loki thought he saw pity in their eyes. "What is done cannot be undone, not even by the fates."

The outlines of the three sisters began to blur, mist curled from their robes.

"Wait," Loki said frantically, near sobbing in desperation. "Please wait." He grabbed at the nearest of the three, but his hand passed through her cloak as if it wasn't even there.

"All will be well."

"Please don't leave."

The Fates dissipated into mist, disappearing into thin air and taking his only hope with them.

* * *

**A/N: Not bad, huh? So we've hit the turning point in the story, these next three chapters are when **_**everything **_**changes. Hold onto your seats lovelies, because it's about to go **_**down.**_


	20. Chapter Twenty

Loki had been gone for over a month, there had been no sign of him, not so much as a whisper, and Thor blamed his father. The day Loki had fled Asgard his fear and desperation had been evident, he had attempted to hide it under a mask of anger and false bravado, but Thor knew his little brother well enough to see past it. He had made the mistake of believing his father was able to as well.

Thor made no effort to hide his ire toward his father, he made it a point to avoid any contact with the man outside of planning for his coronation, so when he was summoned to the Allfather's throne room he had no idea what to expect, and thus was more than a bit wary. His father seemed to realize his reluctance to speak to him so he wasted no time in getting to the point of their meeting.

Apparently, whatever protections Loki had weaved around himself to keep him hidden from sight were faltering, allowing Heimdall to catch random glimpses of him and thus glean his location. He was in the home of the Norns, tucked amidst the roots of Yggdrasil, Odin wanted Thor to retrieve him before he disappeared again.

Thor left within the hour, eager to be reunited with his brother, but finding him among the roots of Yggdrasil was turning out to be much more difficult than he had anticipated. The place was eerie, blanketed in a thick mist that obscured his vision and muffled all sounds; he spent most of the search blundering through the fog, cursing and tripping over the roots like an uncoordinated bilgesnipe.

"Loki!" Thor's shouts didn't carry near as far as they could have because of the damnable fog, but if Loki was near he would answer, that is if he didn't flee first.

He stumbled through the mist for the better part of an hour, carefully maneuvering the impossibly large roots and calling for his brother until his throat was raw and his voice was hoarse. Thor was a celebrated warrior, he was in peak physical condition, considered to be one of the strongest men on Asgard, but even he was beginning to grow weary, he could feel his energy waning and it didn't help that his patience was as well. But he stuck to his task, and eventually his perseverance paid off, Loki was tucked between two of the smaller tree roots, barely visible in the fog but his low, shallow breathing gave him away.

"Loki!"

"Do try and speak louder, brother, I'm not sure they heard you all the way in Helheim." Loki's words were scathing, but they lacked any of his usual bite, it was as if he was simply going through the motions.

"Where have you been?"

Loki leaned back onto the trunk of the world tree and rested his hands on his bent knees. "Oh, here and there."

Wherever he'd been, it had obviously taken its toll on his usually flawless composure; Loki's skin was deathly pale, his hands, despite his desperate clenching of them, were trembling, and, if Thor's eyes weren't deceiving him, there were traces of dried tears on his face.

"Mother misses you…_I _miss you."

Loki scoffed. "And Father?"

Thor hesitated. "He wants to see you home."

"He sent you to bring me."

"He did."

"Then what are you waiting for, great thunderer?"

Thor slowly sat down on the damp earth, only an arm's length away from his brother. "You do not wish to return."

"I do not."

Thor had been expecting the blithe response, but the knowledge did nothing to lessen his hurt. "Do you truly hate us so much you are unable to return home?"

Loki didn't know how to respond, so he didn't.

"Where is it you disappear to? Who do you go to see?"

"That is none of your concern," Loki said dully.

"But it is! You are my little brother Loki, I may be arrogant and reckless and too foolhardy for your tastes, but I know when you are hurting, and I'm more than willing to believe it has something to do with wherever it is you go so often."

"I do not wish to speak of this," Loki said dully. "Least of all with you."

"What have I ever done to deserve your mistrust?"

"Perhaps it is what you didn't do."

"I do not understand."

Loki shook his head. "Never mind, it is of no importance."

"But-"

"Please, brother, just drop it."

Loki sounded so weary, so defeated, Thor could do nothing but oblige. "Will you return home with me?"

"Are you truly giving me a choice?

"Father made it very clear that I am not to return without you."

"I will not get a moment's rest until I return. He will not stop looking for me."

This was said more as a dull observation than an actual question, but Thor nodded anyway.

"What I desired never mattered to the man, and I am beginning to realize why."

"Loki…"

"Come, brother, let us get this over with. I would have words with our father."

They returned to Asgard via the Bifrost and made their way immediately to the throne room, where only Odin and Frigga resided. Loki's mother threw herself into his arms with a relieved cry when he entered, she had been affected the most by his absence, and so was happy to see her youngest alive and relatively healthy.

"It is good to see you home," she whispered.

"It is good to be home." Loki's tone seemed sincere enough, but the bitter smile that twisted his lips betrayed the truth of the statement. He would rather be anywhere than in Asgard's opulent halls.

Odin stood from his throne and pinned the trickster with a stern, one-eyed stare. "Loki."

"Allfather."

"Your presence was greatly missed."

"I'm sure," Loki said sarcastically.

The frown lines around Odin's mouth deepened. "Your selfish actions left your mother in great distress."

"And yet the whole situation could have been avoided if you had just let go of this troublesome habit of sticking your nose in places it doesn't belong."

"The time for your childish mischief is no longer," Odin said, barely keeping a lid on his anger in the face of his youngest's flippant attitude. "Where have you been?"

"Around," Loki drawled.

"I will not ask again."

"And I will not say again that it is none of your concern."

"Loki," Frigga whispered. "Please, just tell us."

"No," he said firmly. "Until my actions directly threaten Asgard or any of the nine realms, I kindly request that you _butt out_."

Odin erased the anger from his face and straightened to his full height. "Very well," he said calmly. "I've tried to reason with you, but it's evident that you are beyond sense. Until you are through with this childish defiance you will not step foot from this castle. You are hereby banned from any travel between the nine realms, Heimdall will not allow you travel through the Bifrost, and, to prevent you from traveling through the passages you are so fond of, your magic will be bound."

Before Loki had time to react, Gungnir sliced through the air and produced a shimmering rope of gold that coiled around him and sunk into his skin. He could feel the effect of the binding immediately; it was as if his blood had turned to molten sludge, it burned his veins and crept along at an agonizingly slow pace, he collapsed to his knees. Struggling desperately to draw breath.

"Odin!" Frigga cried, gathering her trembling son in her arms.

"I have made my decision," the Allfather snapped. "He will grow used to the sensation in due time. Until then it will do you no good to entertain his dramatics."

"He is in pain!"

"He will endure it! As a true warrior of Asgard would."

Loki staggered unsteadily to his feet, ignoring his mother and brother's outstretched hands. His face was ashen and he was still unable to draw a proper breath, but he was still able to pin Odin with a glare of pure, vitriolic hatred. "You know it's all beginning to make sense," he rasped. "The favoritism, the suspicion, the constant disapproval, I'm finally beginning to understand it all."

"What nonsense are you speaking now?"

"Did you ever take the time to wonder _why_ I ventured to Yggdrasil? The innate magic of the place would have stripped away the spells I had cast to keep me hidden from your lackey's _all-seeing_ eyes, so there must have been a reason I'd risk being discovered to explore the roots of the World Tree."

"Why don't you enlighten us?" Odin asked testily.

"I went to see the Norns. Did you know they have the curious tendency of finding that which was not meant to be known. Tell me, Allfather, when did you intend on informing me that I am not of the house of Odin?" Loki felt a sick sense of satisfaction when all of the color drained from Odin's face and his grip tightened around the handle of his spear. "Son of a king, but not the king I'd been led to believe."

"They lie."

"What reason would they have to lie? They are timeless beings, they would glean no satisfaction nor amusement from the act. No, they spoke the truth, I am not the son of Odin. Who did you steal me from?"

"I will not, for one moment, entertain these preposterous delusions," Odin snarled. "Whatever suspicion or disapproval you speak of was no one's doing but your own."

Loki watched with narrowed eyes as Odin stormed from the throne room, his hasty departure had told him everything he needed to know.

"Loki," Frigga reached out, as if to touch his cheek, but he moved away from her touch. He spared his mother and brother one last unreadable glance, then he left.

It was only when he was in the privacy of his own quarters did he finally allow his composure to fall and he desperately attempted to get some sort of magic. He tried teleporting across the room, he tried shifting his form, even drawing forth enough magic to contact his son through the stone, but there was nothing, his magic was securely bound and he knew that nothing but Odin's precious spear could unbind him. The gravity of his situation slowly sank in, he was stuck on Asgard while his son was world's away fighting a war he possibly wouldn't survive.

He had promised Harry he would be back within a few days, he had never broken a promise to his son. Until now.

* * *

In the months following his near fatal injury at the hands of a faceless Death Eater, Harry often sought refuge from the madness of the rest of the castle in the Astronomy tower. When he wasn't training or spending time with his friends, he could be found at the highest point of the castle, staring silently off into the distance with his legs dangling over the edge of the tower.

He was rarely bothered while in the Astronomy Tower, his friends allowed him that time to stew in his thoughts in peace. So when Kingsley approached him late one evening, only a few hours after wrapping up that day's training, he knew he would be bearing bad news.

"We can't wait any longer," the dark skinned man said without any preamble. Harry's shoulder's tensed but he continued on resolutely. "We have the upper hand, but if we wait much longer our advantage will be lost. I've spoken with the rest of the Order and they agree, they just want this to be over."

Harry looked up at the hulking man with shadowed green eyes, evidence of the stress his father's absence had wrought. "When?"

"Two days from now."

The teen nodded, it had been almost a month since his father had departed to take care of his mysterious business and he hadn't heard so much of a whisper from him since. He had tried calling for him through the stone, but had received no response. Harry was almost certain something had gone awry during his travels, he knew if his father was able to come back, he would have. But he no longer had time to sit around fretting over his absence, they had a war to win, Harry would just have to go on without him.

"How many will be going?"

"We have over a hundred prepared to fight for us."

"We only have seventy Order members."

"Anyone of age and willing to fight are being permitted to."

"They will be used as target practice."

"They have been receiving formal training for the past few days, and each has been assigned an Order member who will fight alongside them during battle. It's risky, expecting the Order to keep an eye on them while fighting, but we need as much help as we can get, we'll have to risk it."

Harry shrugged indifferently. "As long as I'm not expected to babysit during the fight."

"You've been given your task, we don't intend to deviate from it."

"Good."

Since Draco had become Lord of the Malfoy family, giving them an in to Malfoy Manor, Voldemort's not-secret hideout, the Order had worked obsessively at mapping out their plan of attack. The final result was intricate, it had so many minor details that tied in with the larger details Harry felt his head spin just looking at it. He wasn't expected to know it, or even understand it for that matter, all that he needed to know was that he'd be joining the fight in the third wave, he would be with a team of Order members who would lead him directly to Voldemort and watch his back as he dealt with the dark lord.

They practiced the execution of the plan in the Room of Requirement until they had it down to a science, but it was one thing to pull it off in a safe, controlled environment, and a whole other thing to do it while dark spells just narrowly missed your head, as your comrades and enemy were cut down all around you, as the dark lord and his minions cackled insanely, reveling in the madness.

No amount of practice would prepare them for what they would soon be facing.

* * *

No one slept the night before the battle. With all the training they'd done the past few days, one would expect they'd be asleep the moment their heads hit their pillows, but there wasn't one shut eye in the castle that night.

They were all confident in their chances of winning, they had trained too hard not to be, but there was still that underlying fear that something would go wrong, that Harry would fail.

Without any conscious planning on their part, Harry and his friends one by one gave up on sleep and drifted down to the kitchens until all six of them were gathered around one of the small tables, picking at the snacks the house elves had served them.

For almost an hour, no one spoke, they simply sat in silence enjoying each other's company for what could be the last time. When the house elves began to grow weary of their company, they left the kitchens to wander the grounds.

"I'm not worried," Ron said, finally breaking the heavy silence. "It's scary, what we're about to face, but I think we're ready. We've been training practically nonstop and we have a plan, a _good_ plan, as long as we stick to it, we'll be fine."

"I can't stop thinking about the what-ifs though," Hermione said. "What if something goes wrong and one of us… one of us…"

"Doesn't make it," Draco finished for her.

"We'll just have to do our best to keep that from happening," Harry said. "Perhaps if my father was here we could be surer of our chances, but..."

"Do you think he's coming back?" Blaise asked.

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. Eventually. But we can't just sit around waiting for it to happen, our time's almost up."

Their aimless wandering eventually led them to the Black Lake where Harry kicked off his shoes and stuck his feet into the cool water, the others were quick to follow suit and settle down around him.

"Do any of you guys know what you want to do after this is all over?" Neville asked. "Career wise I mean."

"I've always wanted to be an Auror," Ron said. "But it'd be pretty nice to play professional Quidditch."

"The Chudley Canons may actually have a fighting chance with you as their keeper," Hermione smiled. "I on the other hand plan on sitting my NEWTS and trying for a teaching position in a few years. Vector was talking about retiring soon."

Neville looked delighted by this. "So am I," he said. "Professor Sprout wants to take me on as her apprentice, I'd take over for her when she eventually steps down."

"That's great, mate!" Blaise exclaimed. "You'd be a brilliant Herbology professor. I've been thinking about going into curse breaking."

"And I into healing," Draco said. "Maybe I can do something good with the Malfoy name." He turned to Harry and gently splashed a bit of water in his direction. "What about you? What do you want to do?"

Harry absentmindedly kicked his feet through the water, creating ripples across the surface. "I never really thought that far ahead," he said. "This war has consumed so much of my life, I never really gave myself the chance to think about the future."

"You never thought about where you want to be five years in the future?"

"Of course I have. It's always been Asgard, but…"

"But it's a million miles away from us," Draco murmured.

Harry turned to Draco, an apologetic frown on his face, but before he had a chance to respond, a brilliant flash of white light lit up the sky and exploded across the wards.

"What the hell?"

The teens scrabbled to their feet as three more jets of light appeared, when they collided with the barriers they left the wards' grid patterns visible to the naked eye.

The next flash of light momentarily cast aside the shadows surrounding the property line and revealed the dozens of Death Eaters standing in neat little rows at the gate.

"Sound the alarm!" Hermione exclaimed.

Harry drew his wand and twirled it above his head. "_Tumultus!"_

Immediately, a horrible shrieking alarm tore through the silence as Harry and the others turned and raced across the grounds. By the time they reached the castle, its inhabitants had spilled out into the Entrance Hall, looking sleepy and bewildered.

"Who sounded the alarm?" McGonagall shouted over the din of confused voices.

"I did," Harry said, pushing through the crowd to get to her. "There are Death Eaters trying to get through the wards."

There was a surge of bodies as everyone spilled out onto the lawn, trying to see for themselves if what he spoke was true. The amount of white lights hitting the wards had increased and were no longer just by the gates, but rather all around the property lines.

"Bill?"

The oldest Weasleys son's wand was already drawn, waving frantically. Within seconds he had created a multicolored replica of the wards that floated several feet above the ground. "These colors," he explained to the gathering crowd, "represent the strength of the wards in a given area. Those red areas," he pointed to where the Death Eaters' spell were impacting, "are where the wards are at their weakest. Those yellow dots around the wards are the Death Eaters."

"There has to be at least a hundred of them," Tonks said.

"And I'm willing to bet that's only their first line," Bill replied. "Once the wards are down the others will come."

"What do we do?" a woman holding her young son whimpered.

"Evacuate the children and anyone not able or willing to fight," Kingsley ordered. "Is there anything we can do to keep them out?"

"Nothing indefinite," Bill said. "Not with the force they're throwing at us, if we put up the emergency wards we'll be able to hold them off for an hour, no longer."

"Activate them, give us all the time we can to gather our forces. Remus, Fred, and George, I want you to lead everyone who can't fight out of the school, you three know the passages better than anyone. Take six of the Order with you, to help defend your numbers if you run into any trouble. All who plan to leave with Fred, George, and Remus gather in the Great Hall, take nothing but your wands and your family with you. Any who intend to fight, convene in the Room of Requirements on the seventh floor."

There was a sense of controlled chaos as the castle's inhabitants worked their way through the crowd to get to where they were supposed to be, fear and worry had erased all signs of sleep, they moved purposefully, surprisingly calm in the face of a Death Eater attack.

Harry, Draco, Blaise, Hermione, Ron, and Neville rushed to their rooms where they quickly traded their nightclothes for garments more fitting for battle, sleek leggings and form fitting shirts made from the skin of the slain basilisk in the Chamber. The simple yet elegantly crafted outfits had been commissioned not long after Harry had been injured; the basilisk skin would deflect most knives and other such blades, as well as most low level curses. This would be the first time they'd wear it to battle.

When they arrived at the Room of Requirements, the meeting had not yet started, wizards and witches were still trickling into the room and gathering around the table where the holographic replica of the wards were set up. A silvery sheen, the emergency wards, were blanketing the permanent wards, protecting them from the brunt of the attacks, but more and more red areas were appearing as the wards began to fail.

"Do we have a plan?" Harry asked, pushing his way to Kinglsey's side.

"We're sticking to the original plan with just a few minor tweaks to adjust for the unexpected change in location," the dark skinned auror said. "Our first and second wave of fighters will greet the Death Eaters on the ground, they'll remain on the defensive and try to keep them from getting into the castle. The third wave will pick off any stragglers who make it past the first two. You six will be a part of the fourth and final wave, when the last of the Death Eaters and Voldemort finally show up you'll launch an offensive attack, we don't have any Order members to spare so it'll be up to you four," he pointed to Hermione, Blaise, Neville, Draco, and Ron, "to watch Harry's back as he takes down Voldemort."

"Do we even know if he's out there?" Harry asked. "Or if this is their final move? What if this is just Voldemort's attempt at weakening our numbers before the real battle?"

"We sent a few men to get a look at the Death Eaters' forces; they have almost two hundred wizards out there and Voldemort is with them. They came with the intention of finishing this war once and for all."

"How much longer until the wards are down?"

"Thirty minutes," Bill said. "Most likely less, they're throwing everything they have at them."

"Good," Harry muttered. "That'll leave them with less when it's finally time to face us."

It took another five minutes before the last of the stragglers finally arrived in the Room of Requirement and settled down enough to hear Kingsley's plan of action. Overall there were around two hundred willing to fight, ranging from full experienced wizards and witches to sixth year Hogwarts students, Harry could see some of his classmates among the crowd, Dean Thomas and Lavender Brown, being just a few.

Once the briefing was through, the first and second groups headed out to the grounds to await the Death Eaters' arrival, while the others took up their position throughout the castle. Harry's group, which was made up of ten people, not including him and his friends, took up post in the Astronomy Tower, where they would be able to see over the battleground and, hopefully, spot Voldemort when he arrived.

For almost forty five minutes they sat patiently, watching silently as with each spell that collided with them, the wards flickered and became weaker and weaker until, finally, they collapsed.

Their small group waited with bated breaths for the Death Eaters to make a move, for them to attack the tensed Order, but they remained where they were. A shadowy figure emerged from the center of the crowd and faced the suddenly restless Order unflinchingly. The figure was barely visible from their distance, but Harry knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was Voldemort.

His suspicion was confirmed only seconds later when a cold, hissing voice with no clear source emanated from all around them. "I see you are prepared to fight." Harry felt a chill run down his spine at the unnaturally amplified voice, he gripped his wand just a bit tighter. "That is unwise. I do not want to kill you. It would be a shame to spill magical blood. And there is no reason to, we can avoid any bloodshed, just give me Harry Potter. Give me the boy and you will not be harmed."

Hermione reached out and took Harry's hand without removing her eyes from Voldemort. "They know he's lying," she whispered. "They won't give you up."

Harry nodded, he had full faith in the Order, they had more than proven themselves as worthy allies these past few months. "I know."

Below them, an Order member mimicked Voldemort and stepped from his ranks. He cast a spell similar to Voldemort's on himself, so when he spoke, his voice carried effortlessly. "Burn in hell."

"Very well then," Voldemort turned and was immediately swallowed by the crowd of his servants, he waved his wand to cancel his spell, but not before he said one last thing. "Kill them all."

The Death Eaters surged forward immediately, wand tips alight with spells and battle cries on their lips, but the Order was not taken by surprise. The moment the orders left Voldemort's lips they were moving forward, determined to gain the upper hand.

The two forces met in the middle with a tremendous clash and began a primal battle for survival. All across the field, wizards and witches were being cut down in geysers of blood and agonized screams, only for their bodies to immediately be trampled over by both friend and foe struggling to remain alive for even a second longer.

"Voldemort's headed for the forest," Harry said, leaning as far as he dared over the edge of the tower in an attempt to keep the dark lord in sight, he was also just able to make out a familiar slithering form following close on his heels. "And Nagini's with him. I don't think he knows about the Horcruxes yet, but he's bound to keep her close anyway."

"Perfect," Blaise said. "It'll be like killing two snakes with one stone."

"Exactly."

Harry's group joined him on the edge of the tower and attempted to help the battle along by shooting Death Eaters down when they got a clear shot. It took almost twenty minutes before the battle began to move inside and the third wave was able to join the fight. The sounds of the battle could be heard all the way up in the tower, Harry was itching to join in, but he forced himself to remember his orders and remain put until the first three waves had done their damage.

It seemed like an eternity before Moody finally left his position at the entrance of the Astronomy with the gruff announcement that it was time for the fourth group to make their move. Harry felt his stomach turn as he tightened his hold on his wand and headed for the door, he was terrified of what he would face in the following hours, but the fear was overshadowed by an almost overwhelming excitement, mortal or not he had been raised a warrior of Asgard, this was what he was made to do. Come sun up, this war would be over.

* * *

Thor waited anxiously as the servants cleared away the remnants of that night's feast from the dining table; they weren't working with the haste he would have preferred but he smothered the impatience he was infamous for and held his peace. It wouldn't do to begin a conversation on a topic that was sure to be a highly sensitive one after causing a scene with the servants, he was supposed to be above such childishness. He and his father were alone at the enormous table, Frigga had retired immediately after eating and Loki hadn't even bothered to show up, as was becoming customary. Odin seemed to realize that Thor wished to have words with him as he agreeably remained at the table once done eating, he was willing to do anything to get back in his favorite son's good graces.

"I wish for you to remove the bonds on Loki."

Well, _almost _anything.

"Why?" Odin asked. "He has yet to see the error of his ways, just yesterday he injured three guards trying to escape the castle."

"Whatever bindings you have on him are affecting his health," Thor said beseechingly. "He is refusing to eat and the only time he ever leaves his chambers is when he's attempting to pull of some ill thought out escape plan. I worry for him."

"Don't waste your energy," Odin said dismissively. "Without the use of his magic, Loki has stooped to his next best weapon, trickery."

"This is no trickery, Father! Have you not seen him? He is unwell."

"He's manipulating you into feeling sympathy for his plight in order to gain his freedom."

"He should not need to resort to manipulation! He is no longer a child, Father, you cannot keep him locked away for disobeying your orders."

"I can and I will." Odin pushed himself away from the table. "Will that be all?"

Thor glared angrily at his father's easy dismissal of his youngest son's health. "Is what he said true? Is Loki not a son of Odin?"

"It seems that _will_ be all. Goodnight, Thor."

The thunder god was left to watch incredulously as his father stalked from the hall without answering his question. He called in a servant and ordered them to bring him the strongest ale the kitchens had in stock, before sinking wearily into his seat.

"That was an admirable attempt, brother, but the Allfather is far too obstinate to see reason in any form."

Loki slunk from the shadows lingering in the corners of the room and seated himself across from Thor. He was looking just as ill as the thunderer had described, his usually carefully coiffed hair was dull and looked as if Loki were constantly running his fingers through it, his skin was ashen gray and the usual spark of mischief in his green eyes was absent. Though he was within arm's reach, the trickster seemed worlds away, he was staring blankly at the table as he almost absentmindedly twisted a smooth, glossy stone between his fingers.

"No matter, when I become king _I _will release you."

A soft smile touched the corners of Loki's lips. "If only it were that easy," he said. "This is Odin's curse, only Odin can remove it."

"We can convince him! Mother can!"

"It will take more than that, words would have no effect on him."

"Then what will?"

Loki shook his head. "Do not worry yourself over it. I have everything in hand."

Thor smiled ruefully. "Always up to your tricks, Loki."

"Always."

Loki stood from his seat and sauntered from the room. He hadn't intended on stopping in the dining hall, he had somewhere to be after all, but when he had heard the argument between Thor and Odin, he couldn't suppress his curiosity. He would be a few minutes late to his meeting because of it, but he was sure his consociate had stuck around. And he was right, when he slipped into the narrow hall, a servant's corridor that had not been used in several years, he found a thin, unremarkably handsome man with an easily forgettable face waiting for him.

"Your highness," the man said, dipping into a shallow bow. "I was beginning to worry you had forgotten about our arrangement."

"Yes, forgive my tardiness, I'm afraid I was delayed. Judging from the fact that you are still here, I believe it is safe to presume you are interested in doing business with me."

"Of course, who wouldn't be interested in doing business with the infamous trickster prince? And the promised payment for completing this task is nothing to sneer at."

"Good," Loki said. He produced a thin parcel from his pocket and handed it to the mercenary. "This job is to be discreet, you are to be in and out of Jotunheim quickly and with no one, Heimdall especially, the wiser. This is your first payment." The man accepted a large pouch full of tinkling gold coins. "You will receive your second portion when the job is complete."

Loki's associate nodded. He didn't question what was in the parcel or why he would be leaving it in the home of the Jotun king Laufey, he didn't even care that he could possibly be committing treason to the king. All he cared about was the gold in his pocket and the promise of more to come when the task was through. "It will be done, my prince."

"Yes, it will."

Loki felt a twist of guilt for deceiving his well-meaning brother, but if he ever wanted to see his son again, he would have to get his hands a little dirty.

* * *

Harry was exhausted. He had been fighting what seemed to be an endless hoard of Death Eaters for over an hour, he'd lost the Order members in his group fifteen minutes into the fight, and he'd been separated from his friends not long after. He didn't know where any of them were or if they were even still alive, for all he knew everyone could be dead and he was the only one left fighting the Death Eaters.

He had twisted his ankle somewhere on the sixth floor while fighting eight Death Eaters at once, and he'd only narrowly avoided being roasted by Fiendfyre near the entrance of Gryffindor tower; he had acquired a few burns and a collection of other minor injuries as well, but he continued fighting through the pain, cutting down Death Eater after Death Eater until his clothing were stained with blood and a macabre trail of corpses marked his path.

An explosion shook the ground and rained dust from the ceiling, down the hall there was the sound of victorious shouts followed by the pounding of footsteps. Harry raised his wand, preparing to for another round against a group of blood thirsty Death Eaters when Dean and Seamus barreled around the corner, looking slightly burnt but incredibly satisfied with themselves.

"Harry!" Seamus cried upon catching sight of the green eyed wizard. "Where have you been? Everyone's been looking for you."

"I got separated from the others. Do you know where any of them are?"

"We saw Ron and Neville out on the grounds fighting a bunch of giant spiders about twenty or so minutes ago, Draco was with Tonks and Moody on the third floor last we saw him," Dean said. "We haven't seen anyone else though, sorry mate."

"No, it's fine. What about you two? You all right?"

"So far we're still alive and we've got all our limbs were they should be, I'd say we're doing just fine."

"That's what I like to hear." Harry nodded to the two Gryffindors, then headed down the stairs in search of Draco. He ran into a Death Eater on the way down, but a quick flick of his wand had him flying over the railing to what would be a certain and very messy death.

He found the blonde Slytherin on the second floor, just as he was finishing up a duel with one of the many masked wizards.

"It's about time you showed up," he said, pulling Harry into a rough embrace. "I thought you'd gone and abandoned ship."

"And leave you guys to have all the fun?" Harry grinned. "Never."

Draco and Harry simultaneously raised their wands when a group of Death Eaters appeared at the end of the corridor. Draco erected a shield to deflect the barrage of spells sent in their direction, while Harry sent a few of his own back.

"Do you have anywhere to be after we've dealt with this lot?" Draco shouted over the din of battle.

"Well, I heard Ron and Neville were on the grounds fighting a colony of acromantuala."

"And they didn't invite us? How rude."

"No home training," Harry agreed as he effortlessly ducked a bright blue spell and countered with a decapitation curse that hit its mark head on. "Should we join them?"

Draco shot his friend an exhilarated grin then cleaved the last Death Eater in half. "I thought you'd never ask."

Harry returned the grin, all traces of his previous exhaustion were gone, he was drunk off of adrenaline and the thrill of battle. "Let's go then."

He took one step over the bloodied corpses of one of their many fallen opponents, one step in the direction of the staircase, and then the world exploded.

There was a brilliant flash of light, then pain, a terrible white, hot pain ripping through his side. Harry was thrown onto his back several meters from where he'd been standing only a half of a second ago, he had landed in the gory remains of a fallen Death Eater whose wand was digging painfully into his back. Before he could even regain his bearings, his wand was ripped from his grasp and he was hauled to his feet, rough hands grabbed at him, pushing and pulling him into a sea of bodies.

Slowly, he regained first his hearing, then his sight, and he realized that he had somehow fallen into the hands of Death Eaters, the dark wizards and witches were screaming and cackling victoriously.

"What should we do?" one wizard asked. "Should we kill him? Can we kill him?"

"No!" another barked, he was the clear leader of the group. "We'll take him to the Dark Lord, he will deal with him and we will be rewarded."

"And the other?"

Harry's eyes caught sight of the familiar head of blonde hair, Draco had been captured in the blast as well. A sluggish trail of blood oozed from his hairline, but his gaze was clear and focused directly on Harry.

"Kill him."

Harry locked gazes with the blonde and subtly gestured to the Death Eater holding Draco back with a tilt of his chin. He received a nod in response.

_Three…_he mouthed silently to his friend.

A wand was aimed directly at Draco's head, but he didn't even so much as flinch.

_Two._

Harry's body tensed, preparing for what was sure to be the fight of his life, he was pleased to see Draco doing the same thing.

_One._

With no warning, Draco kicked his feet of the ground and pulled his knees to his chest, the Death Eater whose arms were wrapped around him, keeping him in place, was not prepared for the sudden weight and accidentally released his hold on Draco. Before he could make a grab for him, he received a face full of the Killing Curse that had been meant for the retreating teen.

As Draco scrambled away from the Death Eaters' reaching hands, Harry slammed his head into the bridge of his captor's nose immediately sending a geyser of blood gushing from beneath his mask. As he ripped the mask away and attempted to stem the flow of blood, Harry grabbed the man's wand right from his hand and hit him with a spell that sent him and all of the Death Eaters behind him crashing into the unforgiving stone wall.

"Draco?"

"Here!" the blonde appeared at Harry's side just as he summoned a dome like shield to block the barrage of spells coming at them from all sides. "Got any ideas how to get us out of this mess?"

"I was hoping you did."

"You see that ugly bloke right there?" Draco pointed to one of the few unmasked Death Eaters whose face was twisted into an unattractive snarl. "He has our wands tucked up his sleeve. I see you've managed to get your hands on one, but I'm sure you'd feel more comfortable fighting with a weapon you're familiar with."

"Once I disarm him the shield will fall. I can't hold both spells at the same time."

"Well then, you better make it count."

Harry laughed ruefully. "Don't I always?"

"Prove it."

"These are probably the worst odds we've ever faced."

Draco smiled challengingly at Harry. "Scared, Potter?"

Harry couldn't stop the answering smile. "You wish, Malfoy."

With a flick of his wrist, Harry dropped the shield and leveled his borrowed wand on his target. "_Expelliarmus._"

Three wands were wrenched from the man, one being his own and the other two Harry and Draco's, both were caught by their owners with unerring skill, while the Death Eaters' was snapped.

The two teens effortlessly slid into the position they'd practiced numerous times in the reality simulator and even more in real life battles, they stood back to back, keeping both ends of the corridor and a majority of the Death Eater's in their line of sight. They tried to remain in that position throughout the fight, to better defend each other's backs, but the ebb and flow of battle often had them drifting apart only to find each other again amidst the relentless slaying of their opponents. It was during one of these moments apart that Harry found himself completely surrounded.

By then a majority of the Death Eaters had fallen by either his or Draco's wand, but the dozen or so that remained were proving to be particularly difficult to defeat. Harry was fighting with all he had, but he was hard pressed to block the onslaught of spells being sent his way, let alone send out any of his own.

"Don't kill him!" the obvious leader of the ragtag group of dark wizards shouted as one of the Death Eaters clipped him on the shoulder with a cutting curse. "That honor is reserved for the dark lord."

"Doesn't mean I can't make him bleed a little first."

"Shut up," Harry growled, and sent a dismembering spell at the Death Eater. It missed him by barely half an inch, but the close call seemed to infuriate the man as the lethality of his spells increased. But with his anger came recklessness and sloppy casting, the majority of his spells were ricocheting off of the stone and hitting his comrades who had abandoned the fight to duck for cover.

"_Suxprema._"

The silver spell sliced through the shield Harry conjured as if it wasn't even there, before he could decide whether he wanted to attempt another, stronger shield spell or simply hit the decks, a stone wall appeared from thin air and Draco was suddenly at his side. The wall exploded into dust when the spell collided with it, but both boys remained unharmed.

"Why is it I'm always saving your sorry arse?"

Harry shot his friend a cheeky grin. "Because you love me."

He focused on dealing with his previous opponent while Draco engaged the few remaining Death Eaters. They were down to the wire, the fight was literally either side's for the taking; Harry and Draco were outnumbered twelve to two, but they were clearly more powerful than their opponents. They slowly began to gain the upper hand, downing one Death Eater after another, Harry was just beginning to believe the odds were leaning in their favor when Draco was hit by an unfamiliar spell and blasted out of sight. The three remaining Death Eaters converged on Harry but he was blessed with a sudden surge of energy and fought with a renewed vigor.

Not even a full minute later the Death Eaters were dead and Harry was frantically searching the sea of bodies for his friend. "Draco!" he called frantically. "Draco where are you?"

A soft groan drew him to the doorway of an empty classroom, Draco was slumped over the bodies of several Death Eaters' corpses, he was struggling to pull himself into an upright position, but his arms seemed unable to support him.

"Merlin," Harry breathed, rushing to his friend's side. "Don't do that. You almost had me worried there."

"Harry…"

"Are you all right? Do you know what spell you got hit with?"

"Yeah," Draco said. "I heard the spell."

"What was it?" Harry asked worriedly as he gently pulled his friend into a sitting position. "Do you need me to heal you?"

"You can't. There's no healing it."

"No…no healing it? Draco what was the spell?"

"_Visceria Lupis_. It's a very dark spell that, one by one, will turn my organs to stone. There's no counter-curse, no cure, just a slow, painful death."

"You seem to fine me. Maybe…maybe you heard it wrong," Harry said. "Maybe it's something else, something treatable."

"It's not."

"Maybe it is."

"But _it's not_," Draco said sharply. "I can feel it now, the curse is shutting down my organs already, in order of importance, least to most."

"What do I do?"

"Be here…sit with me."

"Something that will actually help," Harry snapped. "I should go get help, find someone who can _do _something."

"By the time you get back I'll be dead. Please, just stay with me. I don't want to die alone."

Harry shook his head, desperately trying to come up with a better course of action. But when none was forthcoming, he slid down the wall so he was sitting beside Draco, shoulder to shoulder. "This is my fault," he whispered.

"_Harry_," Draco said warningly.

"I dragged you into this," Harry persisted. "Maybe if I hadn't been so selfish, if we hadn't ever become friends-"

"Hadn't become friends?" Draco cried. "Becoming friends with you was the best thing that could ever have happened to me. I was dragged into this war the moment I was born, just like you, because of who our parents were. If I hadn't accepted your friendship I would still be fighting, just on the opposite side. At least this way I get to die having fought for something I actually believed in."

"But I don't want you to die."

Draco snorted and shot the dark haired teen a rueful smile. "We mortals get very little say in the matter when the time comes, it would be foolish for us to try and fight the inevitable. Voldemort tried and look how he ended up."

"This is so unfair!" Harry shouted. "You don't deserve this, not after everything you've been through, not after all the hell you've endured."

"I couldn't agree with you more," Draco's voice was growing weaker; as more and more of his organs solidified the harder it was to draw breath. "But I'm not upset, and neither should you. What good would it do? Do you remember what I told you in first year? Right after you killed Quirrell and was terrified we wouldn't want to be your friends anymore?"

Harry shook his head.

"Whether it be insane groundskeeper with a soft spot for dragons, or megalomaniacal dark lords with you at the top of their hit lists, I'm with you until the end. The end just came a bit sooner for me than I expected, is all."

"Draco-"

"Shut up, Potter. I never once regretted taking your hand and I'll be damned if I start now.

Harry laughed tearfully. "I never regretted offering it."

"Good," Draco let his hand fall onto Harry's leg, palm facing upwards. "No regrets?"

Harry slowly took Draco's hand and intertwined their fingers. "No regrets."

Five minutes later, Draco's heart stopped. Without the vital organ to pump oxygenated blood throughout his body he became short of breath, his heavy, labored pants were torture on Harry's ears, he was desperate for the terrible sound to stop. But then it did, Draco's lungs shut down and he was unable to draw breath at all, and Harry just wished his suffering would end. He couldn't stand to see the once proud blonde so helpless.

It felt like an eternity before the curse inched its way up to his brain, shutting it down section by section until there was nothing left to attack, until Draco fell still and Harry knew it was over. He was gone.

He couldn't move, he couldn't bring himself to let go of Draco's hand. Vaguely he felt the tears wetting his face, the shudders wracking his body, and somewhere worlds away the sound of battle could be heard raging on. But none of it mattered, nothing mattered anymore, Harry's entire world had just ended.

* * *

**A/N: So, that just happened…**


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

Harry's silent vigil over his best friend's body was disturbed by the arrival of a wounded Death Eater seeking refuge in one of the higher floors. He didn't have time to even register Harry's presence before he was dead, but the sudden appearance of the dark wizard reminded the teen of the battle going on only floors below, and how it would only be a matter of time before more arrived.

Harry hooked his arms behind Draco's knees and the small of his back and gingerly lifted his body; he valiantly ignored the cooling skin and limp limbs, or how Draco was several times heavier than he should have been. He carried Draco into the classroom whose doorway he had died in and settled him behind the professor's desk, out of sight from any who weren't looking, then he conjured a white sheet and threw it over the body.

He trembled at the finality of the action. Draco was dead, his snarky, insufferably stuck up best friend was dead. What was he supposed to tell the others? What was he supposed to tell _Narcissa?_ He couldn't face the woman knowing he had failed her son, he had sworn to protect Draco and now he was dead. He desperately wished it was him beneath that sheet.

"Your efforts are impressive." Voldemort's voice suddenly reverberated from the floor and the walls, nearly startling Harry into dropping his wand. "You have proved to be worthy opponents for my Death Eaters, but how much longer will this last? How much longer can you fight? Many of your own have died, even more will die if you continue to defy me. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste.

"But Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured." There was a pause, and then, "I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. It is time to end this."

A sudden, burning fury rose within Harry at the sound of the chilling voice, but there was also a twisted sense of amusement when he found that, for once, he agreed with Voldemort. It was time to end this.

He tucked Draco's wand into his back pocket, separate from the ones he'd confiscated from various Death Eaters, then headed for the door. He didn't look back, he couldn't bring himself to, but he warded the door as best as he could to keep anyone from stumbling upon Draco's body, and then headed down to the ground floor.

There were bodies everywhere, laying at the base of the stairs, scattered across the ground, and even draped over suits of armor. There were no Death Eaters in sight, no living ones anyway, they had cleared out remarkably quickly, while the Order had convened in the Great Hall to mourn their dead and treat their wounded. Harry was careful not to be seen as he silently passed the hall and stepped out onto the grounds. It was dark out, the half-moon did little to light the way, but Harry knew where he was going, he'd traveled this route several times when he was still a student at Hogwarts. He walked the well-tread path past Hagrid's hut and to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, it was dead silent and even darker than the grounds, not even the moon's dim lighting could penetrate the thick canopy.

The knowledge of what he had to do settled in his stomach like a heavy weight, once he went onto the forest, there would be no coming back out.

"Harry?"

The dark haired teen paused midstep, he had been unknowingly preparing to enter the forest and face his certain fate.

"Harry what are you doing?" He suddenly found himself flanked on either side by Ron, Neville, Hermione, and Blaise.

"Were you about to go into the forest?" Ron asked angrily. "Were you going to give yourself up?" He looked righteously furious at the thought of Harry willingly handing himself over to Voldemort.

The dark haired teen seemed oblivious to his friend's anger, he simply nodded, finding no reason to deny the obvious. "Yes."

"_Why_?"

"Because this needs to end, no one else can die."

"No one else…?"

Harry resolutely kept his eyes trained on the dark forest as his friends looked around, slowly coming to a horrifying realization

"Where's Draco?"

Harry's nails dug into the soft flesh of his palms, drawing rivulets of blood, he struggled to control his breathing as he remembered his friend's empty gaze and limp limbs.

"Harry," Hermione said urgently. "Where's Draco?"

"He's dead." There was a barely noticeable tremor in his voice when he spoke, but his face remained impassive, emotionless even as he recounted Draco's death. "We were surrounded by Death Eaters, dozens of them, all just baying for our blood. It was bad, but we fought and we were _winning_, but then Draco was hit. There were only five Death Eaters left when it happened, maybe six, I finished them off then went to help Draco, but he said there was nothing I could do. _Visceria Lupis _was the incantation of the spell, it was a very advanced, very dark curse that-that shut its victims organs down, one by one, and turned them to stone." Harry angrily swiped away the tears that dared to wet his face. "I tried to help him, I really did, I just didn't know _how_. He said there was nothing I could do, there was no cure or counter-curse, so I just sat there and did nothing while he died.

"And then Voldemort spoke. He said that if I turned myself in the fight would be over, I didn't know if any of you were still alive, or if I was the only one left, but I couldn't let anyone else die."

"But he won't stop," Neville said. "Once you're dead there won't be anyone left to oppose him. None of us would make it out alive."

"You're strong, you can fight him."

"But we don't want to," Hermione sobbed. "Not without you. Please, come back to the castle, we have an hour to come up with something."

"Come on, Harry," Blaise said, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. Tears glistened on his dark skin, but he kept on a brave face. "Let's fight him, together. Don't let Draco have died for nothing."

How could he say no to that?

* * *

The hour was over before it had even truly begun. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Blaise had only just enough time to trek back up to the castle and have their wounds patched up before the lookouts stationed in the towers sent word of the dark armies approach. Their numbers had been severely decimated during the fight, but there was still well over a hundred Death Eaters left and they were being led by the Dark Lord himself.

The Order and all of their volunteer fighters slowly filed out of the castle, at the very front was Harry once again flanked by his friends and the senior Order members.

The two forces halted their approach when they were thirty meters apart and silently regarded each other.

"Did you get my message, Potter?" Voldemort asked, crimson eyes alight with amusement.

"I did."

"I must confess, I was disappointed when you didn't accept my offer and turn yourself in. It would have made things much easier for the both of us."

"You knew where to find me," Harry said coldly. "You managed to get here just fine."

"Indeed, but now I'll have to deal with the unpleasant task of killing each and every one of you."

Harry leveled his wand on Voldemort. "Be my guest."

The Dark lord cackled in amusement, his Death Eaters quickly joined in. "You don't want to fight me, boy."

"But I do," Harry said. "I've been waiting a _long_ time for this day, and I lost a lot getting here, your paltry intimidation tactics won't scare me off, Tom."

Voldemort's grip instinctively tightened around his wand, but he didn't rise to Harry's careful goading. "You seem fairly certain in your chances of winning," he said, "Do you not think I would have prepared for such a possibility? I would not bother going through the trouble of securing the wizarding world, of taking the first steps to building my empire only to die from old age, or be felled by a particularly cunning foe. I have no intention of dying today, or tomorrow, or any day to be honest, I am all but immortal."

Harry couldn't repress the slow smirk that spread across his face. "Are you referring to the nasty business with the soul fragments?" he queried. "I mean, it was a truly inspired idea, seven fragments scattered across the country under impressive protections, but then I was always rather good at scavenger hunts."

Voldemort's face drained of what little color it possessed, but his crimson eyes practically burned with fury. "What? How did you…"

"Dumbledore, for all his faults, was a very knowledgeable man, before his death, he managed to impart some of that knowledge unto me. How many fragments you had, where they could be found, how to destroy them, you know, things of that nature," Harry said casually. "The diary was the first to be destroyed, by me as a matter of fact, when I was just tiny little second year. It was completely by accident, but it revealed to us, Dumbledore specifically, the great lengths you were willing to go to avoid death. He was the one to destroy the ring, and who pointed me in the direction of the locket. After that, the rest were practically ours for the taking, the Grey Lady all but led me to the diadem and Narcissa literally strolled into the Lestrange vault and retrieved the cup, and now you've been kind enough to bring the final two right to my front door."

And just like that, Voldemort's fragile hold on his temper snapped. "_Avada Kedavra._"

During their short conversation, Harry had allowed his wand to drop back to his side, he was confident in his ability to raise it fast enough to defend himself if the situation called for it. But as the bright green spell raced toward him he made no move to erect some sort of barrier, or even dodge out of the way, he spread his hands and allowed it to hit him straight on.

"You foolish, foolish boy."

* * *

Harry moaned quietly as his entire body throbbed in pain, the sound was muffled by the soft, spongy ground he was lying face down and completely vulnerable on, and given the current state of his wellbeing, it was likely he would be remaining there for some time.

"Has Father never taught you how to endure pain like a true warrior of Asgard? Get up. Get dressed."

Harry groaned again, this time when he realized that he was completely starkers and in the presence of an unfamiliar woman. Slowly, he used his elbows to roll himself onto his back and push himself into a sitting position. A pile of cloth was tossed unceremoniously onto his lap, he pulled the simple gray robes over his head before he climbed to his feet and warily regarded his companion.

He knew who she was immediately, he had never seen her before, only heard descriptions of her and viewed artists' crude renderings, but she was unmistakable. Half of her head was covered in thick, inky hair, as dark as his own, that fell down her back in graceful waves, the other half was bone white and framed the ivory bone and empty socket that also took up half of her otherwise beautiful face.

"Hela. So I'm dead then."

The mistress of the underworld snorted and shook her head. "No, little brother, you are not dead, merely visiting. You may return to the world of mortals whenever you wish."

"But I got hit with the killing curse."

"Yes, however the curse targeted the leech not your soul. You will find yourself slightly off balance for a brief period, the leech was feeding off of your essence to remain alive. Now that it has been dislodged you will be left with slightly more power than you are used to, but you will grow accustomed to it in due time."

"So the Horcrux is gone? It's dead."

"As far as I know, yes."

"So the snake and Voldemort are all that are left," Harry murmured to himself.

"You have quite the task ahead of you. However, Father raised you properly, you will be victorious."

Harry's brow furrowed. "How do you know about him raising me? He said you were imprisoned in Helheim."

"Father is not the only one well versed in magics. I am not able to see much, but I see enough to know, to understand."

"Can you see Dad?" Harry asked. "Do you know where he is?"

"He is on Asgard," Hela said. "Though from what I can tell, he is not remaining there of his own free will."

Harry felt weak with relief, his father was alive and on Asgard, his stay there was not voluntary, but that meant he hadn't intentionally left him to deal with Voldemort alone.

"That is Grandfather's doing, no doubt," he said.

Hela nodded in agreement. "He was not pleased that Father would not tell him where he so often disappeared to, it was decreed that until he-ah…spilled the beans, so to speak, he would be confined to Asgard's halls."

"Why does he not just slip away?"

"His magic has been bound."

Harry frowned, outraged at the thought of such an integral part of his father's existence being cut off from him. "I will go to Asgard, then," he said. "I will bring him home."

"That is not wise, little brother."

Harry shrugged carelessly. "Perhaps not. But if I don't help him, who will?"

"Do you even know how to travel between worlds?"

"Not at all. But I'm sure you do."

Hela shook her head, but Harry could see a sparkle of amusement in her single green eye, the same shade as his and his father's. "There are places in each of the nine realms that act as portals between the worlds, find one and it will take you all the way to Asgard, just be sure to get off at the right time or you'll find yourself stranded in an unfamiliar realm."

"How will I know when to get off?"

Hela shrugged. "You will just know."

"Where do I find these portals?"

"Mortals have been surprisingly accurate in finding them, though they are rarely recognized for what they truly are. They have plotted the roads leading to the doorways between the worlds, ley lines I believe they were called, follow the lines and you'll find your portal."

"Sounds easy enough."

"Indeed. I assume you will be wanting to return to Midgard now? The sooner you have dealt with your dark lord, the sooner you will find our father."

Harry sighed, not looking forward to returning to battle, but he nodded anyway. "I suppose I might as well get it over with." He bit his lip hesitantly. "But before I go, can I ask you something?"

"I feel as if you're going to ask no matter my answer."

"It's about a friend of mine, he…he died during the battle, did you receive his soul? Did he make it to Helheim safely?"

"You are referring to the soul of Draco Malfoy? I did not ferry his soul to my realm, the Valkyries did."

"The Valkyries? He's in Valhalla?"

"Feasting among the great warriors and shield maidens of old."

Harry laughed even as tears filled his eyes. "Wow…thank you."

Hela tilted her head in confusion. "For what? I did nothing."

"For peace of mind, not to mention everything you told me about the ley lines and how to travel between worlds."

"It was not completely self-sacrificing, I wish to see my father free and well."

"Something we can both agree on." Harry took Hela's hands in his and kissed the cool bone where the flesh of her left cheek should have been. "Well met, big sister. I hope we'll meet again."

Hela smiled. "Hopefully not too soon, little fool. Now be gone, you have a war to win."

And just like that, he was back on the battlefield.

* * *

The spell collided with Harry's chest with such force, he was thrown off of his feet. He had barely half a second to regain his bearings, before he tucked himself into a roll and landed in a slightly unsteady crouch in the bloodied dirt.

He rubbed at the spot on his chest where the curse had struck and winced. "That one had a bit of a kick to it."

"Impossible," Voldemort growled. "_Avada Kedavra._"

"Really?" Harry snorted, rising to his feet as he erected a stone wall to block the curse. "I'd hoped you'd realized by now that that spell doesn't exactly work on me. You'll need something a bit more original if you want to beat me in a duel. Let me demonstrate. _Alarte Ascendare_."

Harry aimed his wand at Voldemort's feet, where Nagini was lurking just beneath his robes. The snake was catapulted in the air and landed less than a meter in front of Harry, before anyone had time to react, Harry had drawn his dagger and put it through the base of her skull.

The scream of the dying Horcrux was drowned out by Voldemort's roar of fury and the cries of hundreds of Death Eaters as they rushed forward under their master's unspoken order. Harry lost sight of Voldemort in the rush of bodies, but from the screams of terror and shouts of pain he knew he couldn't be far away. He tried to fight, but there were so many people pushing and screaming around him it was all he could do not to get trampled.

He and the rest of his comrades were forced into the castle and trapped in the Great Hall with a wall at their backs and the Death Eaters in front.

"This is just brilliant!" Ron shouted, suddenly appearing with the others at Harry's side.

"Just stick to the plan!" Hermione cried.

"What plan? The plan's been bolloxed."

"We have to find some way to get behind them," Harry said. "If we can attack from both sides they won't have a chance."

"All right, well how do you propose we go about doing that? There are hundreds of them."

Harry was struggling to find a solution when Death Eaters were thrown into the air by a sudden explosion; the dark wizards closest to the entrance hall were forced to defend themselves under a barrage of unexpected spell fire.

Harry climbed onto one of the many overturned tables in order to see over the crowd. At the far end of the hall, near the enormous double doors, was a group of over fifty wizards and witches. Among them were the residents of Hogsmeade, but the majority of their numbers were the members of Harry's old defense group, and leading the pack was beautiful, sweet, loony Luna, her long, blonde hair was a wild halo around her face and her wand was raised. Her unusually focused blue eyes locked on his and she grinned radiantly.

"Trickster's Anarchy!" she shouted, her voice carrying effortlessly throughout the hall. The troops behind her echoed the cry and rushed forward.

Harry leapt off the table and rejoined his friends. "Voldemort has to be somewhere in the middle of all of this. Will you guys watch my back as I find him?"

"And as you fight him," Blaise promised.

Harry smiled gratefully. "Well then, let's get to it."

Voldemort, as predicted, was in the epicenter of the madness, gleefully dueling any who dared raise their wands to him as his inner circle hovered around him like irksome flies.

"I've got Bellatrix," Neville said, grimly eyeing the exhilarated witch.

"Then I've got dibs on Dolohov," Blaise said. "His face irks me."

"That leaves us with Mulciber and Nott," Ron told Hermione. "You wanna flip a coin?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't bother, I've got Nott."

With that settled, the four teens leapt into the fray. Harry unceremoniously pushed aside the current wizard dueling Voldemort, who looked incredibly relieved as he was only seconds from losing the fight.

"You disappeared so suddenly," Harry said as he and the dark lord began exchanging spells. "If I didn't know any better I'd have thought you ran away."

"We have unfinished business here."

"Indeed we do. It would have been impolite for you to run off before I got the chance to kill you."

"Your arrogance is no longer amusing," Voldemort snarled.

"Your arrogance _never_ was." Harry laughed as he was forced to duck a blood boiling hex. "A bit touchy, aren't we. Was it something I said?"

Only a few meters away, Nott fell with an agonized scream as a hole punched itself through his chest, seconds later an invisible force snapped his neck, killing him instantly, and Hermione turned to her next opponent.

"You and your friends truly are impressive," Voldemort observed. "You would have made fine Death Eaters. I can't help but notice you're missing one though. Where is young Draco? Did he finally see sense and return to where belongs, or were one of my men forced to dispatch the little blood traitor?"

This time it was Voldemort who had to duck a deadly curse. "I'm going to assume it was the latter. Such a shame, he was a pretty boy, my Death Eaters could have had some fun with him."

All traces of Harry's previous humor had disappeared, the crude insinuations and reminder of his failure made his blood boil better than any curse could. Voldemort seemed to sense the sudden shift in intensity as his eyes narrowed in concentration.

All around them the battles slowly died off and the two opposing forces pulled apart and stood on opposite walls, watching as Bellatrix and Neville, and Harry and Voldemort fought. None dared to step in lest they cost their comrades the fight.

Neville was truly proving himself to be a formidable wizard, Bellatrix had seemed amused by her opponent when he had first challenged her, however, all it took was a near miss with a flaying spell before she began taking him seriously.

"Leaving me alive and sane was probably your biggest mistake," Neville told the mute woman after he split her cheek with a cutting. "If you'd put me in St. Mungo's with my parents, I wouldn't be here to kill you."

Bellatrix threw her head back and roared with silent laughter, overcome with the thought of wee little Longbottom besting her in a duel, he was good, but not that good. She was so caught up in her amusement, she didn't notice the bright blue spell heading her way until it collided into her, directly over her heart. The smile froze on her face and her eyes snapped open, she locked eyes with Neville in surprise and just a hint of terror, then she toppled backwards and hit the floor with a resounding _thud._

Voldemort looked furious at the defeat of his most loyal follower, he almost seemed as if he wanted to take up Bellatrix's fight with Neville, but Harry was keeping him far too occupied.

"It's down to us now, Tom," Harry panted. "No more Horcruxes, no more loyal followers to take the curse for either of us, it's just you and me. _One _must_ die at the hand of the other_."

"And you think it will be you?" Voldemort growled.

"I know it will. Are you tired, Tom? I can see the way your hand is shaking, the faltering control behind your spells. Your magic is failing you, isn't it?"

"You know nothing of which you speak, boy," Voldemort snarled furiously.

"I know more than you, it seems," Harry said confidently. "You took that which was not yours to have, that which you could never hope to control."

"What was it I took?"

"The blood that runs through your body, it's not human, not meant for mortal veins."

"The blood that runs through my body was taken from you!" Voldemort shouted, deflecting a spray of acid with the flick of his wand. "Are you insinuating you are less than human?"

"Not less, I'm something more, so much more."

"What are you, Potter?" Voldemort asked, burning with curiosity. For months he had been searching, finally he would have his answers. "What creature blood taints your veins?"

"The blood of a being far more powerful than you could ever hope to be," Harry grinned wildly. "I am the son of a legend, the son of a god. I am Haraldr Ivarr Kaden, the son of Loki."

He had done it, he had revealed his parentage, his best kept secret not only to Voldemort, but to the entire Great Hall. There would be no more hiding.

"Loki?" Voldemort voiced incredulously. "Of Asgard? He is but a myth."

"Look at me," Harry whispered, "tell me I'm lying."

Even as they were speaking, they fought, not once did their wands falter or the impact of their spells lessen. The air was heady with the scent of magic, like ozone, warning of an incoming strike of lightning, and Harry was in the center of it all.

He had always been a force to behold when fighting, it was the only time when he was truly free, when he held nothing back, but something had changed. Since his encounter with death he seemed like so much _more._ And standing before them now, he looked like nothing less than a god.

"You can feel it, can't you?" Harry didn't shout, or raise his voice, there was no need. It was almost as if everyone outside of his and Voldemort's tiny bubble of space had been suspended in time; they didn't speak, they didn't move to assist either of the two men, they simply watched. "You're blood, the blood you stole from me, is fighting you even now. With every beat of your blackened heart it surges through your veins, poisoning you and your magic. It's making you weaker, you won't be able to fight me and win, not as long as my blood is in your veins. Is the fear starting to take ahold of you yet?"

"Fear?" Voldemort scoffed. "There is no _fear_ within me."

Harry's grin was vicious. "It is in your eyes."

Voldemort began casting impossibly fast, raining spell after spell down on Harry so quickly he was caught momentarily off guard. But then he regained his bearings and the fight was truly on. The floor around them became heated and cracked, one of Voldemort's spells overshot and hit the ceiling, sending the enchanted stone raining down on those below. They continued to fight even as enormous chunks of rock landed all around them as wizards and witches on both sides screamed and dove for cover.

Harry's arms shook with exertion as he caught one of Voldemort's spell on the tip of his wand and sent it flying back at his caster, he was on his final leg, he was barely able to remain standing.

But then somehow, somewhere, he managed to find the strength to cast one last spell.

In that moment, it seemed as if time slowed. The severing curse arced toward Voldemort, slicing effortlessly through the shimmering barrier he had hastily erected and hitting its target head on. Both wizards froze, Voldemort watched Harry and Harry watched Voldemort as a thin line of red circled his throat. Then his head tilted backward and rolled to the ground.

The hall fell silent, no one moved, afraid that if they did they would somehow break the trance that had fallen upon them, and that Voldemort would somehow rise from the ground and continue the fight, with or without his head.

But then, when what felt like hours passed, the whispers started.

Voldemort is dead?

The greatest scourge of the wizarding world was dead.

Harry had won.

_They _had won.

Losses had been sustained, but not near as many as there would have been if Voldemort had won. But their savior wasn't human, and with his eyes glowing a poisonous green and his skin practically radiating magic, that had never been more obvious. They didn't know if they wanted to hug him, to reach out and reverently touch whatever part of him they could, or to shy away from him.

Harry didn't seem at all concerned about his allies' sudden hesitance, his eyes were scanning the hall. There were corpses _everywhere, _dismembered limbs and broken wands and corpses with sightless eyes were on every flat surface. Many had died in the battle, but more still had fallen victim to the avalanche of stone.

Images of the first light of dawn, lay in chunks across the floor. And beside one such chunk of rock was the crumpled, broken form of one Luna Lovegood. Her eyes were, thankfully, closed and her hair lay as a barrier between her and the filthy floor, if it hadn't been for the thin line of blood trickling from her hairline, he would have assumed she was simply sleeping.

"Falling skies and empty eyes, indeed," he whispered. "You were always too smart for your own good, love."

"Harry?"

A gentle hand turned him away from the heartbreakingly peaceful sight and he was suddenly facing Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Blaise, all of whom were caked in dust and looked bloody and exhausted but _alive_. His relief was so great, his knees gave out on him, immediately a warm pair of arms encircled him, followed by another pair, then another, and then one more. And suddenly he was crying, for Draco, for Luna, and for the countless others who wouldn't be granted the privilege of seeing the world they had fought so valiantly for finally at peace.

"It's over, Harry," Hermione whispered as he sobbed into her shoulder. "_It's over_."

* * *

**A/N: And here ends the Hogwarts Arc, we will now move directly to Marvel. Brace yourselves, as we've only just begun.**


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

"So this is it. You're really leaving."

Harry gingerly closed the trunk at the foot of his bed before turning to face the group of solemn teens he called his friends. "I told you, once the funeral was over I was leaving. The funeral is over, so I'm leaving."

Blaise, Ron, Hermione, and Neville were still dressed in the clothing they'd worn to Draco's funeral, but Harry had stripped out of his black dress robes the moment they'd returned to Grimmauld Place and shoved them into the very bottom of his hamper, never to be worn, or even looked at, again.

"We thought you'd wait a few days," Hermione said. "Take some time to let things settle down."

"It's been two weeks. This is as settled as things are going to get."

The aftermath of the war was everything they had expected it would be; the survivors returned to their families and celebrated their victories, the dead were buried, and the Death Eaters imprisoned, but through it all, Harry was not forgotten. He was exalted as a savior, people spoke his name with reverence, but there was also an undercurrent of fear, as there had been since he had revealed his true heritage. The Wizarding World didn't know what to do with the knowledge that Harry could possibly be the son of a god, one of the many deities the old blooded families believed had granted them their magic. When he heard the first mutterings of interrogations under Veritaserum and elaborate tests to determine his parentage he decided it was time to leave in search for his father. Armed with the knowledge Hela had bestowed upon him, he was fairly certain he would encounter no problem getting to Asgard.

"I think…maybe we should go with you."

Harry sighed. "Hermione…"

"No! You've know how the old adage goes, safety in numbers! The more the merrier!"

"You can't go to Asgard with me, Hermione," Harry said firmly. "_I _probably won't even be welcome there, and my father is one of the princes of Asgard, it would only make matters worse if I came with four Midgardians in tow."

"You can't go alone."

"Hermione, he's not going to change his mind," Ron cut in. "He can't take us with him."

"Then don't go!"

"Wouldn't you go if it was your father?"

"I…I don't know. Maybe. I know it's selfish, but I'm asking you not to go. _Please._"

"Hermione-"

"We just got back from Draco's _funeral_. He's dead. And so is Luna and Susan and _so _many others. I don't think I could take another. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you too."

Harry found himself blinking rapidly and struggling to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. "Nothing's going to happen to me."

"You don't know that. You said it yourself, you may not be welcome on Asgard. What if Odin treats you as he did all of the others? I've read the stories, I know what happened to them."

"It's something I have to risk." Harry wrapped his arms around Hermione and pulled her into his chest comfortingly. "This is my father, Hermione. I have to make sure he's all right."

"Please."

"I'll be all right, love. I promise I won't be gone long, I'm like a bad penny, you'll never be rid of me."

Hermione laughed tearfully and allowed Harry to pass her into Blaise's arms after he dropped a quick kiss to her head.

"I have to be off now. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but it shouldn't be more than a few weeks, three at the most."

"All right," Neville said. "Stay safe mate."

Harry smiled cheekily though, even to him, it felt halfhearted. "Don't I always?" He slung the bag carrying his belongings over his shoulder, then retrieved his portkey from his bedside table. He had just enough time to grant his friends one last wane smile before it whisked him away and deposited him in an enormous field bisected by a winding highway. Across the highway, in the opposite field, was a large outcropping of rocks arranged in a bizarre pattern. Stonehenge, his ride to Asgard.

It took several minutes for Harry to safely, albeit somewhat illegally, cross the highway to the park. Though it was past seven and so empty of any tourists, Harry cast a disillusionment charm over himself, just to be safe, and began wandering the park in search of any signs of the portal. He found it within fifteen minutes of arriving at the national park, hovering over the isolated Heel Stone in the form of a large, swirling concentration of magic that would no doubt be invisible to any whose sight wasn't as finely tuned to magic as his was. The unusual positon assured that an unsuspecting muggle wouldn't accidentally stumble through the portal, but it made it particularly difficult for Harry to reach as it was almost six meters above ground.

He eventually decided to simply scale the rock with the help of a sticking charm on his hands and a cushioning charm on the ground beneath him, just in case he lost his footing.

By the time he reached the tip of the rock, his limbs were shaking with exertion, his hands were scraped red and raw, and he was still faced with the dilemma of how to reach the portal as it still remained a meter or so above his head. The tip of the stone had tapered off to a rough point, making it impossible to balance on, he would have to shimmy as high as he could and jump, hopefully he would make it through the portal before he hit the ground.

The jump was dangerous and wasn't exactly steady when he took it, his fingers only just managed to brush the edge of the portal but apparently that was all it took. It acted as a vacuum and sucked him in the moment his fingers camera in contact with it.

Being sucked through the portal was like traveling by portkey but a thousand times worse. There was no sense of direction, no right or left or up or down, it was as if he was being tossed about like a rag doll caught in a hurricane. But through the entire terrible journey, he made sure to keep his final destination, Asgard and its ornate golden halls, in mind, and slowly, it began to take shape before him. He began to catch glimpses of cerulean skies, sunlit gold and roaring waterfalls, he was so close he could hear the sounds of life coming from the city.

And then he stumbled.

He had absolutely no idea how it had happened, one moment he was drawing steadily closer to Asgard, the next he was being dumped in a barren wasteland, enormous fields of ice stretched as far as the eye could see, massive, snowcapped mountains brushed the horizon, and sudden, steep canyons disturbed the already treacherous ground. The cold was so intense, even Harry felt it, seeping into his bones like no Midgardian winter ever could.

Somehow, something had gone wrong during what should have been a relatively simple trip, he had veered off course and, instead of landing in Asgard, he had wound up worlds away.

He was in Jotunheim.

* * *

Loki impatiently paced the narrow, dusty halls, waiting anxiously for his contact to arrive. It was only a few minutes past their allotted meeting time, but it did nothing to ease his burning anxiety. Thor's coronation was a little more than two weeks away, they had very little time to ensure that all he had planned went off without a hitch, tardiness could not be tolerated.

He had met with the mercenary several times in the past few weeks, each time to provide him with his payment of a pouch filled with gold and a parcel meant to be left on Jotunheim. Each parcel contained correspondence to the ruler of Jotunheim, Laufey, detailing his discontent with Odin's rule, how eager he was to see the man removed from the throne, and how the Jotuns could help him do it. All they had to do was sneak onto Asgard, with his aid of course, and steal the Casket of Ancient Winters, a relic stolen from them by Odin.

He hadn't revealed his identity to the Jotuns, it wasn't necessary to the plan and may actually hinder the proceedings more than it would help, but Laufey seemed just fine with that. His name mattered very little to the Jotun king as long as he was able to provide what he had promised, and he had proved multiple times during their correspondence that he was more than capable of doing so.

What Loki had failed to mention to the Frost Giant, however, was that the theft of the casket was only the first step in his two part plan. The bindings Odin had cast on Loki were very strict, from what he could see, there were only to ways to break them, the caster of the spell either had to voluntarily lift them or the caster had to die, and seeing as how Odin had been unyielding in his refusal to remove them, it would seem Loki would have to go with the latter. He was leery to do the actual killing himself, despite their quarrel Odin had raised him, he did not want his blood on his hands, so he devised a far easier way to orchestrate the Allfather's death, a way that would be incredibly difficult to trace back to him.

The Jotuns and Æsir had a treaty that kept a tentative peace between the two races, stepping foot onto Asgardian land without the express permission of the Allfather would break that treaty, stealing the Casket of Ancient Winters (even if it had previously belonged to the Jotuns) would start an all-out war, a war the Allfather would not survive. Odin had said it himself, he was weakening, he was growing old and tired and the constant postponement of his Odinsleep was taking a serious toll on his health, he didn't have it in him to fight another war. He would fall, Thor and Frigga would grieve, and Loki would be free.

* * *

Harry was convinced he had the worst luck in all of the nine realms. Only he could manage to muck up the simple, straightforward trip to Asgard quite so badly. All he had had to do was walk through the portal and hold on to his teeth while he was transported to his destination, but somehow he'd managed to veer off his set path and land in the home of his family's sworn enemies only to be abducted by said sworn enemies within minutes of his arrival.

He was ashamed to say he hadn't even heard the Jotuns' approach; he'd been so intent on attempting to puzzle out what had gone wrong he didn't even notice them until they clobbered him over the head with what felt suspiciously like a club of ice. The merciless blow to the back of his head blurred his vision and impeded his motor skills, but he was able to note that there were two of them, both easily seven feet tall and a deep, dark indigo in coloring. One of the giants hauled Harry up by the back of his shirt and threw him over his shoulder as if he were a sack of potatoes, not once did their skin make contact, but he could still feel the intense cold radiating from his captor's body.

Harry briefly contemplated fighting his way free and making a run for it, but discarded the notion almost immediately. His chances of fighting off the two giants were slim to none and, even if he managed to get away, he had no idea how to navigate Jotunheim's sprawling fields of ice. He'd be caught again in no time. So he allowed himself to simply hang like dead weight on the Jotun's shoulder, they waded through the ankle deep snow and slid over slippery ice with grace unbefitting of their size.

Before long, the two Frost Giants and their unfortunate captive were approaching a dilapidated castle made solely of ice. Their steps echoed eerily in the frozen halls drawing the attention of the castle's inhabitants, when they made it to their final destination, a shadowed room with a single enormous throne in the center, they had gathered quite the following. Several dozen Jotuns lurked in the shadows of the throne room, murmuring curiously to one another.

A Jotun, easily twice as large as any of the others, stepped into the room and sank onto the throne. His domineering presence and the way every Frost Giant in the room stood taller the moment he entered left Harry with no doubt that this was Laufey, king of the Frost Giants.

"What is this?" the king's voice rumbled like an avalanche tumbling down the face of a mountain.

The Frost Giant holding Harry unceremoniously dumped him onto the ground. "Trespasser," he grunted. "Found him wandering the plains."

Laufey leaned forward on his throne, pinning Harry with a red eyed stare. "From where do you come, trespasser?" he growled. "Asgard?"

Harry slowly shook his head as his mind desperately scrambled to find an acceptable answer. Admitting he was Midgardian was just as dangerous as admitting to being Asgardian; Frost Giants had a long standing rivalry with Asgardians, their hatred for each other spanned thousands of years, but they respected each other, if not as comrades then as worthy enemies. But Midgardians were the scum of the nine realms, they were not worthy warriors, they were simply bugs to be crushed beneath their feet.

"Vanaheim," he murmured. "I am of Vanaheim." That was perhaps his safest bet. While Jotunheim and Vanaheim were not the best of friends, they were not sworn enemies.

"What brings you so far from home, Vanir?" the Jotun king asked.

Harry shrugged sheepishly. "An accident. It was not my intention to trespass. If you would allow me to be on my way, I will leave and never return."

Laufey arched a hairless brow. "How? How were you able to trespass on our lands? There is only one known way to traverse realms and it is very hard to miss."

"I traveled by way of a passageway," Harry explained. "Known to very few. It was meant to take me to Asgard, but something went wrong, I…_stumbled_, and wound up here."

"What is your business on Asgard?"

Harry hesitated, his brain stalled at the worst possible moment, leaving him desperately searching for a viable reason to be on Asgard. "I'd hoped to join the king's guard," he said. "I've been training since I was a boy."

The moment he spoke the words, he knew it was a mistake. He had all but admitted he was training to be an enemy of the Jotuns.

Amusement stole over Laufey's features. "One of the king's guards?" he said mockingly. "But you are so…tiny."

Harry barely refrained from bristling at the insult. "My size has always been a disadvantage," he admitted, "but I have never allowed it to hold me back, nor do I intend to now."

The unspoken threat in that statement was unmistakable, but only proved to further amuse Laufey. "Prove it."

Harry froze. "Pardon?"

"Your size has never been more against you, prove that you will not allow it to hold you back."

"How do you intend for me to prove that?"

"Fight. If you win I will allow you to walk free."

"And if I lose?"

"You die."

With no warning, several Jotuns peeled themselves from the shadows and charged at Harry, wielding weapons formed from sharpened ice. He wasted no time in drawing his dagger from its hidden sheath and falling into a defensive crouch. His size truly was against him, these creatures were several feet taller than him and had arms the size of his head, one blow from those clubs and he'd be reduced to a pile of mush. But he could use his small stature and agile feet to his advantage, his father had trained him extensively in fighting opponents both larger and stronger than him, this was no different.

Harry slid between the legs of his first opponent, before the giant could turn to face him, his dagger sliced through the muscles at the back of his leg, sending him crashing to the ground with a howl of agony. He met the next Jotun with a vicious swing of his knife, it shattered the ice that encased the creatures arm and neatly severed his hand from the rest of his arm.

Harry was unhappy to find himself locked in yet another life and death battle so soon after the war's end, he'd hoped to have at least a few years' reprieve, but he knew if he didn't defend himself he wouldn't live to find his father. So he fought with every ounce of energy he had, easily falling into the familiar ebb and flow of battle. One by one he cut through the ranks of attacking Jotuns until he was left facing only one, a horribly ugly, snarling beast. He charged at Harry with a fearsome roar, ice club raised and ready to avenge his fallen comrades; the ground shook beneath the force of his footfalls, but Harry remained steady and when the giant was within seconds of colliding with him, he struck. His dagger sunk into the meaty flesh of the Jotun's stomach and _twisted_ until he collapsed before the dark haired teen. On his knees, he stood at the same height as Harry. Their eyes locked and, for a moment, Harry saw into the giant's soul, he was resigned to die, but he didn't intend to go without taking Harry with him. One enormous hand wrapped around Harry's, keeping the dagger firmly in his stomach while also preventing him from pulling his hand free, the second wrapped around his throat with just enough force to block off his airways.

Harry didn't allow himself to panic, while he no longer had access to his dagger, he still had other weapons he could utilize. All it took was a concentrated pulse of magic to send the Jotun flying across the hall and colliding into the far wall with enough force to cause the entire building to shudder. Harry placed a hand on his aching throat, trying to rub away the burning ache even as a familiar feeling swept across his body. The giant's touch had woken the ice in his veins, within seconds, he was standing before Laufey and his court with the same deep blue skin, red eyes, and strange markings as them.

Laufey slowly rose to his feet, eyes wide in shock. "Seize him," he whispered.

"What!" Harry shouted as several Jotuns raced forward and grabbed him. "You said you'd let me go if I won!"

"That was before we knew you were one of us. Take him to the dungeons."

Harry's second blow to the head that day was infinitely harder than the first, it sent his head reeling and his body sprawling to the floor.

Before he succumbed to the terrifyingly welcoming darkness, he had one last moment of lucidity: Worst. Luck. _Ever._

* * *

The day was finally here. In two hours, Thor was to be crowned king. The palace staff had been preparing for this day for months, there was to be celebration, revelry in its highest form, women, drinks, and food all around.

But while the warriors of Asgard drank themselves into comas, a handful of Jotuns would be sneaking onto Asgard and into Odin's trophy room to steal the Casket of Ancient Winters. By the time its absence was discovered, the treaty would be broken and hotheaded Thor would declare war on the Jotuns to regain the casket.

Loki donned his elaborate ceremonial garb and turned to look at himself in his wall mounted mirror. He was too pale and his weight loss was evident in the way his usually angular face was made all the more sharper by his sunken cheekbones, he looked cold and calculating and maybe just a little feral.

Loki sighed and turned away from the mirror, unable to bear looking at his haggard reflection for long. He carefully placed his golden horned helmet on his head and exited the room to go in search of Thor. He found the thunder god in one of the side halls drinking heartily from a mug of ail.

"Nervous, brother!" he teased, approaching the anxious looking prince.

Thor looked startled by his sudden appearance, but quickly hid it beneath a mask of false bravado. "Have you ever known me to be nervous?"

Loki's face twisted in mock concentration. "Well… there was that time in Nornheim…"

"That wasn't nerves, brother," Thor protested as an attendant approached to hand him a fresh goblet of wine. "It was the rage of battle! How else could I have fought my way through a hundred warriors and pulled us out alive."

"I recall I was the one who veiled us in smoke to ease our escape."

"Some do battle, others do tricks."

"How would you know the difference? My tricks have kept us alive thus far."

Thor shook his head and put his eagle-winged helmet over his golden locks.

"Nice feathers," Loki snorted.

"You don't really want to start this again, do you, Cow?" Thor cried boisterously.

"I was being sincere!"

"You are incapable of sincerity."

"Am I?" the small smile slowly faded from Loki's face, he looked into his elder brother's eyes, all traces of humor gone. "I've looked forward to this day as long as you have," he said. "You're my brother and my friend. Sometimes I'm envious, but never doubt that I love you."

Thor reached out and placed a gentle hand on Loki's shoulder. "Thank you," he said, uncharacteristically quiet. "For being here today even though you are unwell."

"Unwell?" Loki arched a brow. "I've never been better. Truly," he emphasized when Thor cast him a doubtful look. "But your concern is touching."

The thunder god shook his head; knowing a lost battle when he saw one, he gracelessly changed the subject. "How do I look?"

Loki gave him a quick look over then granted him with a soft smile. "Like a king."

Before Thor could responded, the sound of the ceremonial horns resounded through the halls.

Loki felt something tight knot in his stomach, whether it was fear or excitement, he couldn't be certain. "It is time."

* * *

Loki had no idea how things could go so spectacularly wrong in a span of only a few hours, his plan had fallen to ruin before it could even gain any traction. The Jotun's had failed, defeated by an enemy Loki hadn't even known existed, and Thor, foolish, arrogant, battle hardy Thor, had been stripped of his power and banished to Midgard.

After the Frost Giants' unsuccessful attempt at stealing the casket interrupted his coronation, Thor took Lady Sif and the Warrior's Three to Jotunheim in search of revenge, leaving Loki on Asgard to worry over his brother's fate and the destruction of his carefully laid plans. From what he was later told, battle between the small group of Asgardians and every Jotun present broke out almost immediately, perhaps if Loki had been present he may have been able to keep Thor's temper in check long enough to salvage the already dire situation, but the cursed binds kept him tethered to Asgard like an unruly pup.

Thor had nearly started the war Loki had so desperately longed for, but then Odin arrived and managed to retrieve the five warriors before war was declared. Thor's banishment had been both a punishment for his actions and an attempt at keeping the peace with the Jotunheim. But it had been only partially successful, the Jotuns were furious, all Loki had to do was orchestrate the nudge that would send them over the edge.

It had been only a day since Thor's banishment, but word had spread first through the palace, then across all of Asgard almost the moment it had happened, before long everyone knew the previous night's events. Loki had been receiving odd looks ever since. It was no secret that Thor had been Odin's favored son, but with him exiled to Midgard, Loki was to inherit the throne. He was now constantly being watched, being studied, even those who had known him since he was a babe were assessing him, trying to determine if he was to be a worthy king.

Their appraising gazes were too much for him, Loki didn't want to be king, at the moment he wanted very little to do with Asgard. He would not suddenly conform to their ideal of the perfect prince because it was expected of him.

To escape the eyes constantly watching him, Loki retreated to the lower levels of the palace, wandering the near desolate halls until he found himself unconsciously making his way to the trophy vault. He'd been there only a handful of times in his life and he had always been accompanied by Odin, but this time he was alone to walk along the long, narrow aisles, in search of the object that had started this mess.

The casket was at the very back of the vault, set upon a grand dais that stood just higher than Loki's waist. He knew the Destroyer, the machine like weapon that he had believed to be nothing but a myth until the previous day, lurked behind the elaborate latticework of Asgardian steel, waiting for a thief to lay their sticky finger upon Odin's treasures, but he lifted the casket from its perch anyway.

For a moment, he stared into the dark, swirling blue energy of the casket with something akin to awe, but then a sudden shock of cold burst through his body, then blue began to creep up his skin. Loki vaguely noticed that the latticework had parted and the Destroyer had stepped from his little niche, intent to meet the intruder before anything could be stolen or destroyed, but he was too busy watching the blue steadily encroach upon his skin until every inch of flesh had been consumed.

The metal plates that made up the Destroyer's face slid back, revealing a superheated inferno rising from the depths of its body, it turned to face Loki, prepared to gun him down when: "Stop!"

The creature froze.

"Put the casket down."

Loki did not need to turn to know who the commanding voice belonged to. "So it's true then," he said, only a touch breathlessly. "Of course, I already knew, but this provides the confirmation you refused to give me. I am no son of Odin."

"You are. You have always been-"

"Do not patronize me," Loki snarled. "You may have taken me in, loved me to the best of your pathetic abilities, but I am not yours, I never was. Will you deny it any longer?"

There was a beat of silence, then, "No."

Loki gently placed the casket back on the pedestal, as he turned to face Odin the blue receded until he was once again himself. "Whose?"

"Laufey," Odin said simply. "You'd been abandoned, left to die due to your small size, I took you in in hopes that we could achieve peace…through you."

"So I am no more than another stolen relic, locked up here until you might have use of me." Anger and betrayal warred within Loki. He'd known he wasn't Odin's since his meeting with the Norns, but to know just how deep the deception ran, that Odin had taken him in, not out of the goodness of his heart, but because he may serve some purpose sometime in the future, cut deeper than he'd ever care to admit.

"Why do you twist my words?"

"You could have told me what I was from the beginning. Why didn't you?" So much confusion, pain, and insecurity could have been prevented if only he had known.

"You are my son," Odin said weakly. "I wanted only to protect you from the truth."

"The only thing I ever need protection from was you!" Loki hissed.

"Don't..."

"I truly understand now. The constant belittlement, the disappointment in your eyes whenever you gazed upon me, it was all because you knew, you from where I came and it disgusted you. The only reason you kept me around all these years was because it was _convenient. _I am not the monster parents tell their children about at night, you are!"

"Please." Odin sagged against the wall, suddenly unable to support his own weight. It took only a moment for Loki to realize what was happening; the enormous strain put upon him these last few month were finally catching up to him, the Allfather was falling into the Odinsleep. Loki was to become king, but with the bindings still holding firm he would not be able to rule as a proper king could, Asgard would fall to ruin. There was only one way to prevent it.

Loki grabbed the man by his lapels, forcefully hauling him into a seated position. "Release me from my binds," he whispered dangerously, "or I will personally see to it that Asgard _burns._"

There was no jest in his words, Loki would not hesitate to destroy his once home if he was not released, and Odin seemed to realize this. Panic and indecision brought life to his slowly dulling eyes, but then he reached forward and tapped Loki's chest, just above his heart and suddenly it was as if he could breathe again. The trickster could feel his magic flooding his body, rejoicing over its release.

He was free.

* * *

**A/N: So, Harry is on Jotunheim and Loki's finally free. That's bound to be fun. As you can see we're already halfway through Thor, now that we've reached the Marvel Arc it's going to go **_**fast**_**, so hold onto your hats!**


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Harry wanted out of his cell.

Never had he experienced anything as mind numbingly boring as being a captive of the Jotuns. His captors entered his cell only three times a day; once in the morning and once in the evening to feed him a meal that consisted of glacier cold water and an odd stringy meat, and once more in the afternoon to interrogate him. They always asked the same three questions _over_ and _over_ until they eventually grew bored of each other and his interrogators left to do whatever it was Frost Giants did.

"From where do you come?"

"Vanaheim."

"What is your business on Jotunheim?"

"It was an _accident_. I didn't intend on landing on this desolate hunk of ice."

"Why do you bear the marks of a Jotun beneath the visage of a man?"

"For the _thousandth _time, _I don't know._"

There was no deviation from those three questions. There wasn't even a bit of torture to liven things up. The Jotuns were depressingly resolute in dragging answers from him; they were almost awe-inspiring in their consistency, he could set his watch by them. Well, if he had one that is.

Weeks passed and nothing changed, he was fed two times and interrogated once, in the time in-between, he was left to his own devices. However, when he was not being interrogated, he was left with nothing to do but think and pace the tiny little room, but because thinking often lead to reliving painful memories of white blonde hair, slate gray eyes, and wit like a razor, he tried to stick to the latter. Only, pacing was incredibly boring and it still somehow lead right back to thinking.

He had yet to come up with the ingenious escape plan he knew he was capable of, but he carried on with dogged determination. The Jotuns seemed to have some experience in jailing magic users as his tiny, box-like cell had some sort of magic dampening energy cloaking it. His magic wasn't completely canceled out, he could cast a mild warming charm when the subzero temperatures became too much for even him to handle, but that was about the extent of it; the larger things, the more useful magics, were inaccessible to him. All he could do was continue to come up with hare-brained escape attempts that had absolutely no chance of working and hope that he would one day be presented with some means of escape.

* * *

Loki hadn't realized just how much he'd missed Midgard until he was once again standing on its filthy soil and breathing in its polluted air. Midgardians were dull little creatures leading on dull little lives and the Seidrmen were only slightly better. Their magic made them marginally less dull than the average Midgardian, but they had the unfortunate habit of killing each other and starting wars over things as petty as blood status. It grew wearing after a while.

But this realm had provided him with the best thing to ever happen to him, his brilliant and vivacious son, and for that, he would always hold a fondness for the smelly little place.

It had been months since he'd last been on Midgard, since he'd last seen Harry, and he'd counted every day, every hour, every _second_ they'd been apart, because, for all he knew, that could be his son's _last_ second. But he was here now, and he was _king_; he could demolish Voldemort and all of the petty wizards who stood behind him without fear of repercussions from his father, then he could take Harry home with him, to Asgard.

As king of Asgard, Loki could now use the Bifrost at his discretion, but he much preferred his way of hidden paths and portals, they allowed him to be much more discreet in his arrival. The moment his usual portal deposited him in the clearing of some little forest he'd never bothered to learn the name of, he commanded his magic to transport him to where Harry had been residing when he'd last been on Midgard, Hogwarts. However when he landed just off the shore of the Black Lake, he found Hogwarts completely different from how he'd left it.

The castle looked as if a series of explosions had gone off throughout its halls, windows were cracked or completely shattered, several towers and turrets were crumbling, and there were an alarming amount of holes punched through the walls, revealing the castle's innards. The grounds also had not gone unscathed from whatever disaster had torn through the school as the grass was scorched in several areas and completely missing in others, a fire looked to have burned away the tree line of the Forbidden Forest, and even the Whomping Willow looked worse for wear.

And yet the grounds were teeming with activity, everywhere Loki looked, there were wizards and witches slowly but steadily working to restore the castle. And among the few directing the masses was Neville.

He looked different, he looked _old, _not in the way he carried himself but in the look in his eyes. They were shadowed with the knowledge of war and death. He had the look of a true warrior of Asgard, not the ones like Thor who reveled in the chaos and carnage that battle wrought, but the ones who fought only out of necessity, to defend and protect those who could not defend and protect themselves. And yet he exuded a quiet strength as he ordered the workers about, there was a confident set to his shoulders that made Loki's heart ache as he recalled the timid little boy he'd watched grow up alongside his son.

Loki waited until Neville had strayed a bit from the clump of workers before approaching the young wizard. He stopped when he was only a few meters away, unsure of how to best begin a conversation. What did one say to one of their son's best friends after being gone for months with no explanation?

But then Neville noticed him and that no longer mattered.

"Loki?"

"Yes, it is me. I've returned."

Neville covered the last few feet separating them, face slack with astonishment. "Where have you…? How are you…? Are you all right?"

Loki dipped his head in a small nod. "I am well now that I am back on Midgard. Much has changed in my absence, I am no longer under the rule of my father, and so I came to aid you in whatever way I deemed fit, no restrictions." He cast an uncertain glance around at the ruins of the once majestic castle, and all that remained unsaid was all too clear. "But it seems I may have missed my chance."

Confusion furrowed Neville's brow. "The war's been over for almost a month now. Didn't Harry tell you?"

Loki shook his head. "How could he have told me? I've not spoken to Harry since I left Midgard."

"You haven't seen him? He said he would find you!"

The trickster god's eyes immediately snapped back to the young wizard's face. "What do you mean he said he'd find me?"

"Harry left for Asgard almost a month ago, to find you," Neville said tremulously. "We haven't heard from him since."

Loki felt his heart skip a beat. "He went to Asgard? How? I never taught him how to walk between worlds."

Neville shook his head helplessly. "He said something about ley lines and Stonehenge, but not much else."

Loki immediately recognized the name of the odd Midgardian landmark, it was home to one of the many pathways between the realms. He seldom used that particular one because it had the unfortunate habit of spitting him out in realms he hadn't intended on going to.

"He told us not to worry if we didn't hear from him for a while because he'd be busy looking for you. We worried anyway, of course, but we had no reason to believe anything had gone wrong."

"It should not have taken him long to find me, I was in Asgard." Loki's mind began conjuring scenarios of what had happened to his son, each more horrific than the last but all sporting the common theme of him getting stranded in an unfamiliar, possibly hostile, realm.

"You were in Asgard this entire time?" Neville asked incredulously.

"Not voluntarily," Loki said grimly. "I will explain the details later, but first I must find Harry."

"Of course, is there any way I can help?"

"Keep an eye out for him. If Harry returns before I do, have him use his stone to contact me immediately."

Neville nodded. "I can do that."

"Thank you." He clapped the teen on his shoulder, but instead of immediately setting off in search of his wayward son, Loki took in the devastation and destruction surrounding him. "What happened here, Neville?" he asked. "Where are the others?"

A sudden weight seemed to make the young wizard's shoulders slump. "The others are…off doing their own things, I'm the only who remained behind to help rebuild. As for what happened," a look of indescribable sadness stole across his features, "you'll just have to find Harry and ask him that yourself."

Loki didn't allow the carefully vague answer to bother him, he would consider it just another incentive to find his son.

The first vestiges of fatigue were beginning to creep in, walking worlds was no easy feat, but he dipped into the reserves of his magic and teleported directly to Stonehenge. The moment he landed, he was able to sense traces of his son's magic. It was all over the park, but it was strongest around the portal located just above the heel stone, indisputable proof that Harry had asininely attempted to travel the realms with no prior guidance from him.

Loki didn't even hesitate before stepping through the portal; the fear for his son's safety made him desperate and reckless, as it would any father. He stood strong against the turbulent winds attempting to sweep him off of his feet, steadfastly following the trail of Harry's magic, and when he found the wrinkle his son had stumbled over, he allowed himself to be booted from the portal.

He knew where he had been spat out before he even rose from the crouch he had landed in, the snow crunching beneath his boots and the cold nipping at his bared cheeks was all too telling. Icy tendrils of fear lapped at his heart as he gazed upon the plains of Jotunheim. If Harry had inherited his Front Giant genes, which he had no doubt he had, the severe cold would be no problem for him, it was the feral beasts and merciless Jotuns that he worried about.

Loki took a deep, cleansing breath and tried to focus on the trail of magic Harry had left behind, it was scattered and sparse, but it was clear where the trail was leading. The home of the Jotun king was just visible over the sprawling hills of ice, settled snugly on the horizon. Perhaps Harry had approached the castle in foolish hopes that it would somehow lead him home. Or perhaps he had been snatched by one of the Jotuns patrolling the area and taken to the castle against his will. Frost Giants were an inhospitable bunch, they dealt with trespassers harshly and swiftly, if Harry had been caught, he would have been taken directly to the king. And so it was there Loki set off to.

The trek to the frozen ruins of the once grandiose castle was short but no less arduous, Loki was not dressed appropriately for a walk through calf deep snow and across treacherous patches of ice.

Though he had not accompanied Thor on his revenge driven journey to Jotunheim, the Frost Giants still recognized Loki for who he was. Immediately upon his arrival to the castle, he was met by a guard of stone faced Jotuns and led to the throne room where Laufey was already waiting.

The Jotun King was not happy to see him, to say the least. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you," he rumbled from his throne of ice.

"I've come alone and unarmed," Loki said simply.

"To what end?" Laufey asked suspiciously.

"To make you another proposition."

Loki watched with no small amount of satisfaction as realization dawned on Laufey. "So you're the one who let us into Asgard."

"You're welcome."

Before he even had time to blink, Laufey was upon him and an enormous hand was wrapped around his neck. "My men are dead, and I have no Casket. You are a deceiver."

"You have no idea what I am," Loki said calmly.

Laufey's eyes narrowed when his Jotun form spread over Loki's normally pale features, the guards who had escorted him into the room exchanged meaningful glances and shifted uneasily.

"You seem unsurprised," Loki observed.

Laufey released Loki and backed away several steps, however his eyes remained locked on his form, scrutinizing the marks on his face with unnerving intensity. "You are the second changeling to enter these hall."

"Oh?" Loki maintained his façade of casual indifference even as his heart lodged in his throat. "What happened to the first?"

"His should be of no concern to you, it is your fate you should be worried about."

"Are you planning to kill me?" Loki asked. "That would be in poor taste considering I have done so much and come so far to meet you, _father._"

That gave Laufey pause. "The bastard son," he said contemplatively. "I thought Odin had killed you. That's what I would have done. He is as weak as you are."

"No longer weak," Loki disputed. "I now rule Asgard, until Odin awakens. Perhaps you should not have so carelessly abandoned me."

Laufey sank back into his throne as he silently observed his newfound son. "Or perhaps it was the wisest choice I've ever made. I will hear you."

As Loki spoke, he cast his magic out, searching for his son. Harry had been here, of that he had no doubt; the place was saturated with his magic, but he couldn't pinpoint his location or if he was even still alive. He could ask Laufey of whereabouts, but that would no doubt raise the Jotun king's suspicions. He would have to put him in a position where he had no choice but to answer his questions.

"I will conceal you and a handful of your soldiers, lead you into Odin's chambers, and let you slay him where he lies," he said. "I will keep the throne, and you will have the casket."

"Why would you do this?" Laufey asked.

"When all is done, we will have a permanent peace between our two worlds. Then I, the bastard son, will have accomplished what Odin and Thor never could."

A slow smile spread across Laufey's face and Loki let out a small breath of relief, he had fallen for his little spiel hook, line, and sinker. "This is a great day for Jotunheim," he said. "Asgard is finally ours."

"No. Asgard is mine," Loki interjected. "The rest of the Nine Realms will be yours, if you do as you're told."

"I accept."

* * *

Cerise eyes tracked the thin form of the youngest Asgardian prince as he exited the hall, moving with the quiet confidence of one who was not surrounded by a race devoted to tearing his kind limb from limb. The boy, his son, had certainly grown to be an interesting creature, a Jotun hiding beneath the guise of an Aesir. He had blended well; he looked like them, he spoke like them, he even moved like them, but the fact that he was not one of them had always been evident. Laufey had heard tales of the trickster prince, how odd he was, how unlike the crowned prince he'd grown to be. Even then his heritage, the knowledge that he was different from those he was surrounded by, had tried to make itself known, as it always would.

"Ensure that the trickster prince finds his way home with no issues," he said. "We wouldn't want him getting into anything on his way out."

As several Jotuns slunk from the hall to do as bid, Laufey rose from his throne and, with a grace unbefitting of one so large, crossed the hall to the staircase that would lead to the lower levels. The palace's dungeons were not used very often, neither of the two forms of punishments Laufey preferred for the few foolish enough to cause unrest-exile into the barren plains or death-called for a long stay in the dungeons.

The boy, however, the changeling who claimed to have come from Vanaheim, had been fixture in the lower levels for nearly a full moon cycle, and he had yet to speak any truth concerning his origins. Laufey's men had been lenient in their interrogation techniques, they had not felt the need to resort to violence because they had believed the long, cold days of solitude would break the boy if only they were patient. And perhaps that was true, but the time for patience was gone, the visit from the trickster prince and the pact he had made with him had disquiet stirring in his gut.

It was no accident that, only weeks after encountering and imprisoning one changeling, a second one, a prince of Asgard and his long dead bastard son no less, was to enter his halls with honeyed promises of returning the Casket to its rightful home and elaborate plans to slay Laufey's greatest enemy. There was a reason the youngest prince of Asgard was often referred to as the trickster prince. There was something greater to be gained from promising him the Casket and allowing him and his men onto Asgard to exact their revenge on the Allfather, and Laufey had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with the child locked away in his dungeons.

The chamber the boy was being held in was tiny and bare, as every other room in the dungeon was. There were no windows and no cracks beneath or around the door, the only source of light came from the softly glowing stones that did very little to illuminate the room. The boy was curled in the farthest corner of the cell, idly picking at the hem of his worn shirt, however, startling green eyes locked on his the moment Laufey entered the small room.

"Let me guess," the boy said dryly. "_From where do you come?" _Despite his mocking tone, there was something frail in the child's voice, he had not been broken, not even close, but with a bit more time Laufey's men may have received the answers they'd been working so hard for. It was a shame they would never see the fruits of their tenacity.

Laufey crossed the room in three long strides and, without a word, wrapped an enormous hand around the boy's throat and hauled him to his feet. The transformation from man to Jotun was one Laufey was quickly becoming familiar with, but still found himself no less interested in. When the change was complete, he used the pointer finger of his free hand to trace the lines carved into the changeling's forehead. "These markings," he said, "I should have recognized them earlier, but they're blurred, distorted by whatever other filth runs in your veins. These are the kin lines of my own, you are a descendent of the king."

A small hitch in the boy's breath was the only sign of surprise he conveyed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Laufey treated the weak claims of ignorance as if they had not even been uttered. "What relation do you share with the trickster prince?"

"I do not know of what you speak."

Laufey drew the boy close until they were nearly chest to chest, their gazes locked for barely half of a second, then he shoved him backward, slamming him painfully into the unforgiving stone wall. The changeling let out only one soft gasp of pain before he screwed his lips tightly shut.

"Do not lie," Laufey snarled. "You look much like him, and the smell of Seidr, though bound, clings to you. You are his child, no?"

"Of what concern is it to you?"

"He came to us today, looking for you." Stunned viridian eyes, previously glazed over with pain, focused suddenly on Laufey's face, prompting a smirk from the Jotun king. "Oh yes, he knows you are on this realm, likely our prisoner and he has no doubt devised some form of trickery to have you returned. I did not realize his intentions to begin with, but when he revealed his true form, a form much like yours, I began to understand. He intends to deceive me."

"My father knows nothing of me," the boy hissed. "I am the result of a tryst between a lowly Vanir woman and a prince of Asgard. He was never informed of my existence, let alone the fact that I'm being held prisoner here."

"I would have expected the son of the god of lies to be better at telling tales," Laufey scoffed. "But it matters not, I no longer require answers from you, I have a new purpose for you."

"What makes you think I would help you?"

Laufey's grip on his throat tightened until the bone's creaked dangerously beneath his fingers. "Oh, I do not need your consent for this. In fact, it will be far more enjoyable if you struggle." A vicious grin spread across the Frost Giant's face. "Now, scream for me, little deceiver."

* * *

Morbid, insatiable curiosity drove Loki back to Midgard only hours after his first visit. Specifically to some backwater little town in New Mexico; a state in America if his Midgardian geography was up to date.

Thor was in a tiny, box-like room bound to a rickety old chair by a pair of silver cuffs, he looked haggard and downright filthy, especially when compared to Loki's immaculate state of dress.

Loki had meant to only take a quick peek, to check up on his brother's well-being, but when he saw the sorry state he was in, he couldn't help but reveal himself. "What has happened to you brother?"

Thor's head snapped up, the morose look he'd been sporting was immediately replaced with an expression of pure relief and awe when he caught sight of the trickster. "Loki? What are you doing here?"

The younger man shrugged and took a slow step closer to his brother. "I had to see you. So much has happened since your banishment."

"The Jotuns? Have they declared war? I can help, please, let me speak with father."

"Father is…indisposed at the moment. He has fallen into the Odinsleep."

Thor looked stricken by the news. "But it was not his time."

"I think his time has long since passed, he'd simply been holding it off, but your banishment, the threat of a new war, it was too much for him to bear. The burden of the throne falls to me now."

"You are king now? Does that mean I come home now?"

The timid hope with which he spoke was so unlike his brash brother, Loki felt a heaviness in his heart as he shook his head, denying the request. He had much to do before he could allow Thor to return home and take up his rightful place as king.

"You must wait only a while longer, brother. The truce with Jotunheim is conditional upon your exile, but give me time and I will find a way for you to return."

Thor nodded solemnly. "I understand…Thank you for coming, regardless of the sad tidings you bring."

Loki placed a hand on Thor's shoulder, they may not be related by blood, but he would always be his brother. "This is not goodbye, you will return home, soon."

"Until then."

Loki left just as another man, a stern faced, straight backed mortal, entered. He didn't venture far though; Thor was being held in some sort of compound made up entirely of bright lights, glass rooms, and groggy scientists. At the very heart of it all was Thor's hammers, it was buried halfway in the dirt, hilt angled toward the sky, the winding maze of tunnels looked as if it had been built around the hammer.

His hand wrapped around the engraved hilt, allowing the cool metal to leech the warmth from his hand, but he made no attempt to pull it free from the earth. The image was eerily reminiscent to a story Harry had had him read to him countless times when he was younger; it was of a boy who had become king of his lands after pulling a sword from a stone, countless others had tried before him, but only he had proved himself worthy.

_Worthy._

Worthy was not a term anyone would ever associate with Loki. He had done too much wrong, caused too much chaos to ever be considered worthy. It came as no surprise to him that he was finally being held accountable for his wrongdoings. He'd been given his son, been allowed to watch him grow into a confident, powerful, but above all else, _good_ young man, only to have him ripped away in the most cruel way possible as punishment for his wicked deeds and blackened soul.

And yet he still he hadn't learned his lesson. Still he was willing to abuse the power of the throne, allow his sworn enemies to enter his home and gambled the life of the man he had thought to have been his father for the majority of his life on the off chance his son was still alive.

Slowly, finger by finger, Loki released the hammer. He would never be worthy, that was a fact he had long since come to accept, but he would sooner raze the nine realms, or burn Yggdrasil to its deepest roots before he allowed those who were, those like his son, to depart before their time.

* * *

"You seem troubled, gatekeeper," Loki observed as he stepped from the Bifrost and into the large, golden observatory. "What weighs upon your mind?"

"It seems as if every time I look upon you, my king, you are shrouded from my gaze. I cannot help but wonder what it is you are doing when I can neither see nor hear you."

"For one known as the Allseer, it must be a cause for great distress when you find that there are things in this realm that remain hidden from your sight." Loki turned a carefully guarded gaze onto the eternal watcher. "You have a great power, Heimdall, you could rule realms. Has there never been a time where you were willing to use such power, not for yourself, but for someone who meant more than everything to you, no matter what cost it may have."

"There have been times where I have been tempted," Heimdall conceded, "but I must always remind myself that there is nothing greater than the realms in which I was tasked to watch over. The happiness of one is not greater than the happiness of all."

Loki smiled ruefully. "If only we were all so noble."

He nodded to the gatekeeper, then left the observatory. However, immediately upon entering his home, he was waylaid by a guard who informed him that his brother's companions were requesting an audience with him. He reluctantly made his way to the throne room where the four warriors were waiting.

"My friends," he said pleasantly as he slowly lowered himself onto the throne, doing his best to hide his exhaustion, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We would ask that you end Thor's exile and allow him to return to Asgard," Lady Sif said bluntly, wasting no time in getting to the point.

Loki raised a brow. "And why," he said sardonically, "would I do that?"

Sif visibly bristled at his tone. "Because he is your brother."

"That does not excuse the fact that he committed treason, knowingly going against the Allfather's orders and attempting to lay waste to Jotunheim because he was unable to keep a rein on his pathetically short temper. If I allow him to return to Asgard, the Jotuns would declare war."

In a sense, that was true, if he allowed Thor back onto Asgard, indirectly going against the agreement he'd come to with Laufey, the Jotun King would declare war. Thor would simply have to wait a little longer before he could return.

"You don't honestly expect us to believe your refusal to overturn Thor's banishment is to keep the peace with Jotunheim," Sif said scathingly.

Loki's second eyebrow joined the first in its steady ascent of his forehead. "I sense that was meant to be some sort of insult, but your way with words is sorely lacking. Why not save us all the trouble and tell us exactly what it is you're trying to say."

"You've always been jealous of Thor, with him exiled you can live out your deluded fantasies of being king."

Loki laughed incredulously. "How poorly you must think of me," he said. "You honestly couldn't be any further from the truth, I no longer desire the throne, once this mess has been taken care of it will be with great relief that I allow my brother to return to Asgard and take his place as king."

"God of Lies the mortals once called you," Sif sneered, "I'm still unable to understand why."

She turned and stormed from the hall, her three companions were not far behind. Once they were a fair distance away, Fandral wrapped a hand around her wrist to slow her down.

"You cannot speak to him with such open disrespect," he told her. "That is no longer Thor's sneaky little brother, he is the Allfather now, he could end you with one command."

"Which is why I intend to do everything in my power to get him off of the throne," Sif responded. "I am going to Midgard and I will be bringing Thor back with me, this madness ends tonight."

* * *

The very moment Sif and the warriors left for Midgard a guard was at his side, informing him of their departure. He wasn't the slightest bit surprised by the betrayal, Sif had made her displeasure with him and his supposed apathy for his brother more than clear, but he would admit it put a sort of wrench in his schemes. If Thor returned too soon, his plan would be ruined and he'd likely never see his son again.

Heimdall had had a large part in the betrayal, he had been the one to open the Bifrost for the four warriors, but Loki was unwilling to kill him. Instead, he used the Casket to encase him in a cocoon of ice, then used Gungnir to open the Bifrost and send the Destroyer after Sif and her companions.

"Distract them," he told the machine. "Ensure my brother does not return until my business here is done."

The Destroyer disappeared into the swirling, maelstrom of light, only minutes later, it was replaced by three intimidatingly large figures.

"Father," Loki said, inclining his head at the largest Jotun, "welcome to Asgard."

Laufey stepped out onto the bridge and observed Heimdall's frozen form in amusement. "I see you've redecorated since I was last here."

Loki glanced uninterestedly at the gatekeeper. "Yes, this piece was acquired fairly recently, I have a certain fondness for it, so do try not to break it." Loki handed each of the three Frost Giants a brass sickle hanging from a corded rope and gestured for them to hang them around their necks. "Those will hide your true forms until we reach the Allfather's quarters. Wear them and you will not be detected."

The Jotun's obligingly hung the pendants around their necks, then followed Loki into the streets of Asgard.

* * *

The corridor outside of Odin's residence was guarded by no less than thirteen Einherjar, each was equipped with at least three different weapons and, being the best of the king's guard, there was no doubt they knew how to use each and every one.

The three Jotun's likely could have dispatched the guards easily enough, but Loki was trying to prevent as much loss of life as possible. So instead of allowing the Frost Giants to engage the guards, he cast a silent spell over them, knocking the thirteen men unconscious.

The small group carelessly stepped over the immobile bodies and approached the ornate, golden doors of Odin's chambers. A grin of anticipation twisted Laufey's face as he reached forward to push the doors open, but just before he came into contact with them, Loki's hand wrapped around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

"Your target is Odin and no one else," he said firmly, ignoring the blue creeping up his arm. "You are not to harm Frigga."

Laufey looked displeased by his authoritative tone, but he grunted in affirmation nonetheless. "She will not be harmed," the Jotun said. "Beyond reason, that is."

Loki made to protest, but Laufey and his companions were already tearing the pendants from their throats and pushing their way into the room. Almost immediately he could hear Frigga crying out in fear and outrage, but within seconds she was silenced. Loki forced himself to remain still, listening intently to every move made and every word spoken.

Everything needed to be timed exactly right, he couldn't make a single mistake. His son's life depended on it.

"It is said that you can still see and hear what transpires around you, even in this state." Laufey's low, almost reverent voice easily carried out into the hall. "I hope it's true, so that you may know your death came by the hand of Laufey."

Loki's body tensed, prepared to spring into action.

"I hope it cuts deep to know that it was the hand of one you raised as your own that orchestrated this betrayal. You may have taken him from me, misled him into believing he was of your kind, but in the end he knew who his true family was. It seems as if the bond of father and son can never be severed, it will always be first and foremost."

As if he had been waiting for those very words to be spoken, Loki stepped from behind the door and sent a concentrated bolt of energy directly into Laufey, sending him flying across the room. "That it will be," he panted.

One more bolt of energy, this one, exponentially more powerful than the first, punched its way through the chest of the first Jotun guard, killing them instantly, but when Loki turned the spear on the second he found he was no longer where he had been only seconds previous. The trickster prince was allowed only a second of confusion before the missing Frost Giant appeared from behind the open double doors, dragging a stunned Frigga in front of him.

"You have deceived us once again," Laufey said, painfully hauling himself to his feet.

"Was there ever any doubt I would?" Loki sneered, his fingers tightened on the spear as, internally, he panicked. This was not how the night was meant to go.

Surprise stiffened his spine when Laufey only smirked and simply said, "None." There was no way he could have known, Loki had told no one of his plan.

"I was almost fooled, I almost believed that this elaborate plan of yours truly was nothing more than your way of punishing the old fool, but then you revealed your true face."

"What madness are you speaking of?" Loki snarled, his eyes darted desperately between Laufey's tall form and the Frost Giant using his mother as a shield. He had a clear shot of the Jotun king, but his mother would surely be killed if he took it.

"I said before that you were the second changeling to enter my halls, the first was but a mere slip of a boy who claimed to have landed in our realm purely by accident, his true destination was Asgard. He swore he was of Vanaheim, but one touch from my guard revealed his deceit. _Marks of a Jotun beneath the visage of a man._ For weeks we held him, questioned him, tried to understand his origins, but he was a stubborn fool, we were unable to glean any form of truth from him. But then you strolled into our halls, bearing the same marks under the same visage as he did and finally I understood, this was no mere coincidence, the boy was your son."

Loki heard Frigga gasp, but it was quiet, muffled, as if coming from a long distance. "I do not know of what you speak."

Laufey laughed, a belly deep sound that held not an ounce of good will. "He said much the same thing."

"Perhaps there is a reason for that," Loki frowned. "I have no sons. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say I have no sons who bear the _visage of a man_."

"Ah, but that is not the tale he told me. He admitted to being the result of a tryst between you and a Vanir, but I knew even that was a lie. He was yours and you always knew of him, you had cared for him, loved him unlike any of your monstrous children before him. He told me everything…and then I killed him."

Gungnir suddenly became inexplicably heavy in his hands, and yet Loki was still able to lift it from the slightly lax position it had fallen into until it once again was aimed at Laufey's throat. The Jotun holding Frigga stirred uneasily, but Loki paid him no mind. "I would not jest of such things if I were you, Frost Giant," he said dangerously.

"What reason would I have to lie? He is dead and I was the one to kill him. I am the one who made him scream, and writhe, and _beg_ for mercy. To be saved by the father who was too weak, too much of a fool to find him. And when he was nothing more than an empty husk, I slew him."

Loki's hands shook, whether it was from fear or rage he was unsure, but his aim did not falter. "You're lying.

"Am I?" From the pouch hanging at his side, Laufey produced two items, the first being an all too familiar stick of wood, the second being a silver dagger inlaid with emeralds. A hairline fracture ran down the center of the wand, and both items were stained with a rusted brown, almost black, substance that could only be blood.

It was not rage or even grief that welled in Loki's gut, but something far more terrible and all-encompassing. Red blurred his vision, but his hands were surprisingly steady when he pointed Gungnir at the ceiling and fired. As chunks of stone from the destroyed ceiling rained down around them, Loki used the distraction to launch himself at Laufey. He did not use the spear as he punched and tore and clawed at the Jotun king, it was not personal enough. He wanted to make the monster _bleed_ and it could only be done by his hands.

Laufey fought back, he did not simply lie back and take the beating, but Loki was being powered by a force stronger and more frightening than even his magic. He didn't feel the blows that landed upon his body or the knife that dug into his organs and sliced him to the marrow, he continued to beat upon Laufey until, inexplicably, a chunk of the broken ceiling was in his hands and driving into the Frost Giant's skull. Blue-black blood sprayed across his face, stained his hand, and drenched his clothing, as he pounded again and again and again and _again. _Clutching the stone so hard his own fingers bled.

It was only when his skull had been reduced to powder and only a few chunks of brain matter remained in the sludge did the stone fall from his suddenly nerveless fingers and he realized that the terrible, inhuman sound of heart-wrenching grief was coming from him.

His son was dead._ Harry was dead._ If what Laufey had said was true (and why wouldn't it be?) Harry had died broken and alone and believing that Loki was coming for him. He had failed his son.

A shudder ran through his entire body, he had failed to save his son, but he would see to it that the ones who had made him suffer would burn.

"Loki?"

The trickster's darkened gaze snapped up at the interruption to his grief, Frigga flinched away from the sight of him as horror and confusion warred for dominance on her beautiful features. "Loki, what-"

Before she could voice the question, Thor burst into the room, hair disheveled and hammer raised. He took one look at the scene before him, before his face darkened. "Loki, what have you done?"

Loki slowly climbed to his feet and turned to face his brother, he was clearly injured, blood crusted his skin and bruises were visible on his bared arms, but he stood taller than Loki had ever seen him and Mjolnir was once again a comfortable weight in his palm. Exile had clearly done him well.

"It's good to see you brother," Loki said softly. "Truly. But if you'll excuse me, I have a realm to destroy."

At his silent command, Gungnir returned to Loki's hand and sent Thor blasting through the walls and into the reflecting pools several stories below. Without a moment's hesitation, he dove through the hole after his brother, but before he could gain much momentum, he took on the form of a raven and soared in the direction of the Rainbow Bridge.

Heimdall was gone, the only proof that he had even been there were several chunks of broken ice, but he allowed himself no time to worry for the gatekeepers well-being, his focus was locked on the task at hand.

With his guidance, the Bifrost came to life with a great, rumbling roar, a beam of light shot from the machine and was immediately directed toward the land of the Frost Giants by Loki's steady hand. Once it was locked on the target, he used the Casket to encase the control panel in a solid block of ice, preventing anyone from stopping the Bifrost before Jotunheim was completely destroyed.

Only moments later, Thor landed at the entrance to the Observatory with a heavy _thud. _He raced toward the control panel, his hammer raised in preparation to smash through the ice, but Loki fired a warning at his feet.

"Loki, please end this madness," he shouted over the roar of the Bifrost. "You can't kill an entire race!"

"What is this newfound love for the Frost Giants?" the trickster responded derisively. "You, who would have killed them all with your bare hands."

"I've changed."

The ragged edges of Loki's pain were visible in his razor sharp smile. "As have I."

"And all for what?" Thor shouted. "The throne? Is it really worth all that you've done? What you've become?"

Loki laughed raggedly, astounded that even after all of this time he _still didn't get it_. "I never wanted the throne!" he screamed. "I never wanted the expectations and responsibilities that came with it. That was _your _dream. All I wanted was my own chance at happiness."

"Such a chance still exists, but you must help me stop this first."

Loki furiously swiped Gungnir at Thor, throwing him from his feet. "The one thing that made me truly happy was destroyed by _them_, it's only fitting I take something equally as precious."

"Loki, this is madness!"

"Oh no, Thor. You've not seen madness yet."

* * *

The sky was falling and Harry was still trapped in his cell.

When the ground first began shaking in a decidedly abnormal manner, he was unable to tell what was happening from his windowless cell. But then a large chunk of ice fell through the ceiling of his cell, only a handful of meters from where he lay, and tore through the door and part of the wall.

Immediately, he was pulling himself to his feet, ignoring the way his entire body sang in a harmonic choir of agony. Apparently, Laufey's new purpose for him had been to make him suffer for his father's supposed deceit. The Frost Giant had had great fun discovering how much pain his superior strength could bestow upon Harry without breaking him completely.

He had been granted a brief reprieve in which he had been left to wallow in his pain when Laufey cut their session short in order to go Asgard to "deal with his deceiving father". He assured Harry that he would he back in only a few hours, but he didn't intend on being there when he returned.

The chunk of ice that had torn through the roof stood almost as tall as his cell and covered most of the hole it had created, but between the highest point on the ice and the sagging ceiling was a gap just large enough for him to squeeze through. It took a few tries and several ego bruising falls before he was able to find the proper combination of handholds to climb his way out of his cell. And just in time it seemed, the moment he wormed his way free, a second chunk of ice took out half his cell.

The sudden freedom from the magic dampening wards sent a jolt of vertigo through Harry, but he had no time to catch his breath, the ceiling above him was letting out a series of worrying groans and raining chunks of dust and rubble over his head.

The trek back to the upper levels took an agonizingly long time, Harry had been unconscious when the Jotuns carried him down to his cell, so he was forced to navigate the twisting corridors with no real sense of direction. The single time he had attempted to apparate to the throne room, the only place in Jotunheim other than his cell he was remotely familiar with, he ended up right back where he'd started.

It took almost a full hour before he was finally able to claw his way to the surface and find out what had sent his guard and pretty much every other Jotun in the castle running for the hills. A large portion of one of the castle's walls had been ripped away, revealing the havoc and mayhem being wreaked just outside.

A beam of light, enormous in diameter and full of rich, vibrant colors with no distinguishable source, tore into the ground, destroying everything it came into contact with. Harry had never seen anything like it in his life, but he had heard enough stories to know what it was he was looking at.

The Bifrost was destroying Jotunheim.

Harry pulled himself from the crumbling ruins and staggered onto the ice, the ground beneath him buckled dangerously, making each step a struggle to remain upright. All around him, Jotuns were fleeing for their lives jumping from iceberg to iceberg as they crumbled beneath their enormous feet. Where they were heading, Harry didn't know and, in all honesty, he couldn't care less. While they were being distracted by the destruction of their realm he would be making his escape.

Apparation worked much better above ground and away from the magic dampening wards in the dungeon's numerous cells, Harry was able to apparate halfway across the realm, right to where he started. The portal was far enough away from the castle that it was experiencing nothing more than a few minor earthquakes, it would still be a while before the Bifrost's destructive energy reached it.

By then Harry would be long gone.

* * *

Loki had faced disappointment in his youth, rejection and misadventure was what made up a large part of his childhood, had shaped him into the man he was today. But failure of this magnitude was like nothing he'd ever faced. He was unused to desiring something so fiercely, to throwing everything he had, everything he was, into achieving it, only to be denied in the cruelest manner possible.

"It's over Loki," Thor pleaded, golden locks framed his face as he hung above the abyss, dangling from Odin's steel tight grasp on one side and connected to Loki through Gungnir on the other like some demented daisy chain. "Please."

"Yes," Loki murmured. "It is."

The Bifrost was gone, destroyed by Thor's hand and Jotunheim had survived.

He had failed, failed Harry, failed to protect him as he'd sworn to do when he first laid eyes on the tiny creature he had had unwittingly helped create. And, what was more, he had failed to punish those behind his son's untimely death, to find the justice he so desperately needed.

Such failure was not something he was built to cope with. So he fell.

He let himself slip free from his brother's desperate grasp and dove into the abyss. Prepared to succumb to the darkness and join Harry in his daughter's realm.

Only, he didn't.

* * *

**A/N: There it is, the first part of the Marvel Arc is done, just like that, and things are already vastly different and yet still quite similar to the movies. I got a lot of reviews wondering how having Harry would change the events of Thor, as well as outright requests that I not allow Loki to fall as he did in canon, but I'd always planned for it to end like this. I wanted to stick closely to how things played out in the movie, but rather than seeing it all from Thor's point of view, I wrote it from Loki's perspective to show that everything he did wasn't just some mad bid for power and Odin's approval, there was a deeper meaning to everything he did. I don't intend to do the same with rest of the Marvel Arc, you can certainly look forward to all of the ways I intend to twist canon and really just make everyone's lives miserable. **


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

When Harry stepped through the portal, he allowed himself no room for error. He had one clear destination in mind and he refused to land anywhere but there. As he was swept through the roaring maelstrom, he didn't allow his focus to so much as waver, and when he caught his first glimpse of Asgard he stepped forward with unerring grace.

The portal deposited him at the end of a long, narrow cave whose low hanging ceiling and tightly spaced walls were embedded with crystals of varying shades of blue and green, the only source of light in the small space. The cave opened out onto a sprawling mountain range that stretched for miles in either direction, and at its base was a city of gold that practically glowed in the moonlight.

Harry's breath lodged in his throat as a sense of euphoria washed over him, he had done it, he was _finally _on Asgard. From his perch so high above the city, he could see _everything_; the enormous palace in which his father had grown up in, the roaring, endless waterfalls he had heard many a tale about, and the rainbow bridge beautiful and colorful and…_wrong. _

Loki had told him countless tales of the observatory, the golden structure that stood at the end of the rainbow bridge and acted as the conduit for the Bifrost's energy, and though he had never seen it with his own eyes, its absence was glaringly obvious. Even from this distance he could see the jagged edges of the rainbow bridge where it had broken off and likely sent the observatory plunging into the abyss below.

Harry was willing to bet that the bridge's evident state of disrepair was directly linked to Jotunheim's near destruction at the (metaphorical) hands of the Bifrost. He was burning to find out what had happened, who had done this, but the trek down the mountain to the answers that waited below would no doubt take several hours; if he intended to venture into the viper's nest he would need to be well rested. So he forced himself to turn around and return to the cave where he curled up against the wall and forced himself to relax. Asgard would still be there in the morning.

However, sleep did not come easy, he had yet to come down from the adrenaline high his treacherous escape from Jotunheim had granted him, not to mention the unfamiliar environment and painfully hard ground were not at all conducive to a full night's rest. Every strange sound that echoed through the cave had him jackknifing back into uncomfortable awareness. By the time the sun rose, he wasn't near as rested as he'd hoped to be, but he refused to put finding his father off a moment longer.

He began his trek down the mountain when the sun was at his peak, cautiously picking his way over the uneven ground and forcing a path through the thick underbrush. As he slowly picked his way down the side of the mountain, he contemplated his best course of action. While bursting into Asgard's palace and cursing Odin to kingdom come for keeping his father from him had its appeals, he figured it wouldn't be the best way to reveal his existence to his grandfather and may be detrimental in persuading him that he wasn't a monster and thus shouldn't be banished to the farthest corner of the universe as his siblings had been.

Harry knew his best option would be to find Frigga and find some way to worm his way into her good graces; having her in his corner would make all the difference seeing as she seemed to be the only one who could talk some sort of sense into the obstinate Allfather. It would be a challenge to get her on her own without drawing suspicion, however.

It took several long hours before he reached the bottom of the mountain and another hour or so to navigate the wooded area at its base. By the time he reached the outskirts of the thickly wooded area and stepped onto a roughly paved road, the sun had long since set but the city was still thriving with life. Bands with the most fantastical instruments stood on just about every street playing lively, seemingly celebratory tunes, while men and women bedecked in bright, colorful clothing drank and danced and ate from enormous platters set up in several different shops.

Something about the celebration seemed off to Harry though; some form of battle had recently taken place here, Jotunheim had nearly been destroyed and the Bifrost _had _been destroyed, and yet these people were partying as if the world was coming to an end. He was itching for answers, but he was determined to get them from the source, his father, rather than these drunken city folk.

Harry easily lifted a cloak from a hook in one of the many pubs' entrance hall. He was no longer the miniature clone of his father, he had grown into his own over the years, however, he still resembled Loki enough to give anyone who looked at him long enough pause. So he threw the hood of the cloak over his head, effectively masking his face, and began pushing his way through the crowds.

Asgard's city was enormous and full of winding, twisting, dead end roads, couple that with the ridiculous amount of people on the street and he didn't reach the gates to the enormous palace for another few hours. By then it was well into the night, however the celebrations in both the city and the castle seemed as if they would be continuing for several more hours, if not days.

That turned out to be a major advantage for Harry as, due to the revelries, the usual security on the castle was almost depressingly lax. All it took was a minor, wandless disillusionment spell (that fucker Laufey had confiscated his wand and was probably, _hopefully_ too dead by now to give it back) and he was able to slip past the few guards still at their posts and onto the grounds fairly easily. He still, however, was left with one glaring problem. The castle was _enormous_ and he had no idea where to go.

The palace of Asgard served as more than just a home for the royal family, it was a training ground for some of Asgard's most revered warriors, as well as a meeting place for royal diplomats and a prison for high security criminals, it held one of the largest and most valued libraries in the nine realms, and was even directly connected to the now fractured rainbow bridge. Harry could spend weeks searching the place and come no closer to finding his father.

Luckily, he still had the use of his magic. Without his wand, he was unable to use a simple point me spell to point him in the right direction, but he knew of a few spells that worked just as well. He quickly decided that the best one would be a charm that would lead him directly to his closest blood relative, as long as he wasn't too far away, it should lead him directly to Loki.

The moment he cast the spell, a sharp, but not entirely painful, tugging formed in his chest, pulling him in the direction he needed to go. Harry had thought the spell would take him through the hall packed full of party goers, however it lead him in an entirely different direction. He followed the tugging around the side of the castle, away from the boisterous celebration; the path he walked was fairly deserted, he passed only a handful of men too drunk on ale and good food to care about one, lone stranger. Harry couldn't help but be impressed by the arrogance of these men, he could kill them where they stood if he so desired and they would put up very little fight.

It didn't take long, barely a handful of minutes, until the spell gave two tugs to his sternum, indicating that he had reached his destination, before dissipating altogether. Harry's father, however, was nowhere in sight. Instead the spell had led him to what looked to be the palace's stables.

Harry felt confusion stir in his gut as he slowly explored the plot of land. Loki hadn't ever expressed a particular liking for horses so he knew no reason why he would be in the stables this late at night, but perhaps this was the only place he could find refuge from the din of the celebration.

The stables were unlike any Harry had seen (though he'd admit he hadn't seen many); rather than being put in one large building, the horses were housed in individual stalls accessible from outside. They were set up in two, long horizontal rows that stood only a few dozen meters apart and were situated under beautiful, arching ceilings, one for each row, to protect the horses from any sort of inclement weather. At the far end of the plot, settled neatly between the ends of the two rows was a small, structure, it was around twice the size of the other horse's stalls but completely protected from the elements. But what really drew Harry's attention to it was the layers of magic he could feel cloaking the building even while meters away. He had a sinking suspicion his spell had been leading him to whatever was in the building.

Harry slowly crossed the stable yard, keeping a careful eye out for any drunken revelers who had escaped his notice thus far, he hesitated, however, when he reached the odd little building. The magic surrounding it was heavy and old, older than him, and it was completely unfamiliar to him; it didn't hold even the faintest strain of his father's magic, effectively destroying the hope that Loki was, for whatever reason, inside this mysterious structure.

He idled before the building for a few moments, weighing his options. He had no idea who or even what was inside, not to mention why it was layered in so many wards, protective wards from the feel of it. But then, the spell _had _lead him here for a reason, he may as well find out the reason.

Mind made up, Harry reached for the door and yanked it open, it was easily twice as tall and three times as wide as him, but it swung forward without a single resistance. Without giving himself a second to rethink his likely foolhardy decision, Harry crossed the threshold, a shiver tingled down his spine but otherwise he had no reaction to the wards.

It took only a single sweep over the room for him to realize he had entered nothing more than a larger, more ornate _stable._ On one side of the room, the side he occupied, the tack room stood as the unofficial entrance hall, torches dotted that half, casting his shadows eerily across the wide walls and vaulted ceilings. On the other side of the stable was a fenced off area in which a horse lay comfortably in a bed of fresh straw. The creature was enormous, even with its legs tucked beneath him it stood just as tall, if not a few inches taller, than him, it had a beautiful mottled gray coat and a mane as black as pitch.

"Hello," Harry murmured as he slowly approached the gate that stood as the only thing between him and the beast of a horse. "You're quite handsome, aren't you? Not to mention far larger than any horse I've ever met."

The animal didn't make a sound, simply watching him with eerily intelligent eyes as he steadily drew closer.

"Why is it, I wonder, you've been locked in here all by yourself, and under such heavy wards. You're far too magnificent to be kept locked away, I would imagine Grandfather loves to show you off."

That elicited a response from the horse, though not the one he'd been imagining. The moment Harry was within touching distance of his cage, the animal was on its feet, and if Harry thought he was large lying down, he was absolutely _massive_ standing. He was easily a full head taller than him.

But his size wasn't what had him stumbling back in shock, it was the fact that the horse had twice the amount of legs he was supposed to.

"Well, fuck," Harry said, as eloquent as always. He suddenly understood why this horse was being kept in such a heavily warded structure separate from all of the others, he in all his dumb luck, had managed to stumble upon yet another one of his siblings. But that left him to wonder over the ease in which he had been able to enter his brother's dwelling. Loki, in the centuries since Sleipnir's birth, had been prevented from being anywhere near his son, but Harry had been able to literally waltz into his stable and come within touching distance of the horse.

It also brought up the question of why the spell had led him to Sleipnir. It was very specific in that it was meant to lead him to the person who was most closely related to him, and seeing as Sleipnir was only his half-brother, he should not have been brought to him.

"I'm beginning to think I should have remained home and allowed Dad to find me when he inevitably found the chance. No chain could hold him forever," Harry muttered to himself. But what's done was done, there was no point dwelling over it. He would spend a few minutes with his brother, then he would continue his search for Loki. Though perhaps he'd use a different tracking spell the next time around.

"Sleipnir," he greeted the horse, slowly he drew closer to the gate. "You may not have been made aware, but I am Haraldr, or Harry as I prefer to be called, I am a child of Loki."

Sleipnir snorted and tossed his mane, eliciting a raised brow from Harry.

"I can't tell if that's disbelief, disdain, or apathy," he said. "We seem to have a distinctive language barrier."

Another snort.

Harry sighed in exasperation, he was eager to get to know this odd son of Loki, but it was proving to be more difficult than he'd anticipated. "Perhaps you could grant me permission to touch your mind? We would not need words to communicate."

Sleipnir pinned Harry with a dark stare, but he made no move to permit or deny his request.

"I would go no further than you'd allow."

After several minutes of silent contemplation, the horse dipped his head, granting him permission.

Harry smiled and covered the last few meters between him and the gate, "Brilliant," he said. "You won't even feel a thing."

He gently reached out and touched Sleipnir's mind with his own, allowing their consciousness to loosely twine. The moment the connection was made, he sent images of their shared parent to the older creature. Sleipnir flinched back in surprise, but almost unbidden, reciprocating images arose in his mind, Harry was gifted with images, first, of a beautiful black mare with shining viridian eyes, then of a somewhat younger looking Loki, reluctantly but no less tenderly caring for a noticeably smaller Sleipnir. But then came images of an angry, white haired, one eyed man, _Odin_, tearing him from Loki the moment he was old enough to survive away from his mother and shoving him in this gilded prison.

Harry was able to sense the bitterness Sleipnir felt toward the royal family, Loki included. Over the decades, the memories of his mother were skewed until he was convinced that Loki had abandoned him, that he had allowed Odin to take him and had never thought of him again.

"He never forgot about you," Harry told his brother, using both his mind and voice to communicate his point. He shared the memory of the moment he'd learned of his siblings, the raw pain and anger Loki had exhibited when telling him of his lost children still pained Harry even years later. "He thought of you and the others constantly."

"And who are you to carry such knowledge?"

Harry disconnected from Sleipnir's mind with a start and turned to face the new arrival. He had been so wrapped up in his mostly silent conversation, he had not heard the door swing open, permitting an unfamiliar woman entrance. She would be considered middle aged by Asgardian standards, but that did not at all detract from her beauty. Her honey blonde hair was curled elaborately on top of her head and adorned with jewels that complemented the richly colored, finely tailored gown she wore; she held herself with a poise that seemed oddly familiar.

"More importantly, how were you able to enter, stranger? What is your purpose here?"

Harry slowly rose his hands in a gesture meant to be interpreted as non-threatening, all too aware of the wicked looking sword the woman held in one hand. "I mean no harm."

"That is not what I asked."

"I came in search of my father," Harry responded truthfully. "I stumbled upon here in my searches, I did not intend to trespass."

"One does not simply stumble upon this place."

"The wards are impressive," Harry agreed. "But they made no move to prevent my entrance."

The sword in the woman's hand twitched agitatedly. "Who are you?"

"I am no one but a lowly Vanir," Harry said, keeping up with the lie he'd told Laufey.

However, the woman did not seem as eager to believe him, a brow arched and her lips pulled down into a semblance of a frown. "Surely you would know better than to lie to your queen."

Harry's witty response lodged in his throat, coming to a halt just before it had been able to roll off of his tongue just as easily as all of the others had. Had she said _queen? _But then that meant she was…

"Frigga?"

"You speak my name with such familiarity," she said sharply. "I will ask only once more, who are you, stranger?"

Harry shook his head. Unable to form a proper response, this was his _grandmother_, she had been the one to care for his father when he was smaller than even Harry, she had helped him develop the magic that he had passed down to him. Wordlessly, he reached up and pulled aside the hood that cast his face into shadow.

Frigga reeled back as if struck, the sword swung up, pointing directly at him, but it trembled violently in her grasp. "I do not find this to be funny."

"It is no jest," Harry said softly. "I am Haraldr Ivarr Kaden, son of Loki."

"You lie!" Frigga's voice was steady, but a terrible emotion was twisting her features.

"For what purpose? I do not wish anything from you or the Allfather. But it has been many months since I've seen my father and I wished to inquire after his wellbeing."

Pained realization dawned on the queen's face. "Are you the child he spoke of?"

Harry frowned in confusion. "He spoke of me?"

But Frigga didn't seem to have heard him, despair crowed her features as she shook her head. "But then he was wrong. He lied, he lied to him." The woman crossed the room and gently cupped Harry's face in her hands, she studied Harry intently as tears gathered on her lashes. "Oh, you poor child."

"What?" Harry asked fearfully, his heart pounded frantically in his ears. "Is my father all right?"

"Loki is dead."

The world seemed to fall still, Harry's breath stuttered to a halt. "W-what? No he isn't, I would know…He couldn't have…"

"He thought you had died. The Jotun King told him he had killed you himself, he showed him some form of proof, a bloodied stick and a knife Loki went mad. He tried to use the Bifrost to destroy Jotunheim, we tried to stop him, to reason with him but he was beyond all reason. The Bifrost was destroyed, it fell into the void, and he fell with it."

Harry frantically shook his head even as tears blurred his vision, that couldn't be true, she had to be wrong or _lying_…and yet it made sense, it all fit. Jotunheim's near destruction, the broken rainbow bridge, the faulty spell…

"No," he sobbed, his knees gave out on him and he slumped to the ground, leaning heavily on Sleipnir's gate. "Please…_no_."

He flinched away when a pair of soft arms reached for him, but they did not draw back at the movement, simply hardening in their resolve and gathering him close to a deceptively small body.

"Hush, child. I am here."

Odin and Thor grieved for Loki, Frigga would never do them the dishonor of believing that his death hadn't greatly affected them. But they were men, hardened warriors, and they dealt with their grief with anger and stoicism. Men of Asgard did not weep for their dead, but rather sought the path of revenge, if they could, and when the dust settled they moved on, no matter how hard it was to do so.

But that wasn't the way Frigga grieved. She wanted to wail and to sob, to beat upon her chest, let all of Asgard know just how deep her grief ran. But she couldn't, she had nowhere and no one to cry on, but more importantly she had no one to cry _with_. Because that was what she really needed was someone to hold tight and openly share her grief with. And as her grandson kneeled in the dirt, displaying his despair for all to see, she held him to her chest and joined him.

* * *

When his tears no longer ran quite so freely and shuddering sobs had stopped wracking his body, Harry concluded that he should really stop asking for things. It seemed the Fates seemed to gain some twisted amusement from giving him what he desired only after he had lost something far greater. He had wanted to win the war, to kill Voldemort, and he had, but Draco and Luna had been lost in the process, he had wanted to visit Asgard, but he had to endure weeks of imprisonment and a harrowing escape before he was able to do so, he had dreamed of meeting his family for _years_ but only was he allowed to after his father had perished. So he would simply stop hoping, stop dreaming, as it seemed all it ever brought was misery.

"What happened?" Harry whispered, shattering the silence that had shrouded them after his grief had subsided. "I t's been months since I've seen him. What happened? Where was he?"

"He was being punished for his insubordination," Frigga responded quietly.

"Insubordination?"

"The Allfather wished to know where he so frequently disappeared to, Loki refused to tell him so his magic was bound and he was tethered to the castle."

"Tethered to the castle?" Harry snorted. "Like an unruly dog? And you allowed this to happen?"

"The Allfather does not like to be refused, there was nothing I could do."

"You're his mother, you should have protected him."

A look of sorrow darkened Frigga's features, but Harry was too angry and too grief stricken to be affected. "There are some things not even a mother can protect her child from."

"Would cruel fathers be among such things?"

"Odin is not cruel he simply does not understand Loki."

Harry scoffed. "I fail to see the difference."

"Odin loved Loki, he was his son, but there where things about him, things he hadn't known…"

"You mean the fact that he wasn't Aesir?"

Frigga looked stunned. "How did you know?"

Harry held out his hand, Frigga looked down at in confusion, but he said nothing, simply staring down at it with a deep sort of focus. After several moments, his skin began to change, blue stained his fingers and etched markings into his skin. It inched its way all the way past his elbow and up his bicep before his control began to falter.

"I inherited much from my father," Harry said as he allowed his skin to revert to its usual form, "this being one such ability. I, however, didn't truly understand what it meant until after I had been taken prisoner by the Jotuns and noticed our…uncanny resemblance. In my time with them I've slowly begun to learn how to call upon this form." He pinned Frigga with a flat, falsely pleasant stare. "Tell me, did the Allfather have a tryst with a Jotun or does it run deeper?"

"Deeper," Frigga said softly. "Much deeper. Loki was the child of the Jotun King, Laufey, Odin found him abandoned in one of Jotunheim's many temples. He brought him back to Asgard and chose to raise him as his son in hopes that, one day, Loki would be the key to achieving peace between our two realms.

"When Loki learned of his true parentage, he was devastated. The sheer force of his emotions caused Odin to fall into the Odinsleep and Loki was forced to take the throne."

"My father took the throne? Why? Was Thor not next in line?"

"Thor was not there to take the throne," Frigga explained. "He had been banished to Midgard by the Allfather for attempting to begin a war with the Jotuns in retaliation for disrupting his coronation and attempting to steal the Casket of Ancient Winters."

"How long ago was this?" Harry asked.

"No more than a few days," Frigga responded. "Thor's coronation was but three days ago, but it feels as if it has been a lifetime." She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, the only one that dared to make an escape, then took a deep, steeling breath. "I'm not entirely certain what occurred in the hours between Loki's crowning as king and his death, he disappeared for a time and when he returned he was full of this terrible, maddened fury. He tried to keep it hidden from me, but I could see…something was wrong. That was the same night he snuck a group of Jotuns into the Allfather's chambers."

Harry only just refrained from letting his jaw drop. "_What? _Why would he…I don't understand."

Frigga smiled sadly. "I am still uncertain of the night's full events, but one thing that was made incredibly clear throughout it all was that everything Loki did was for you."

"For me?" Harry repeated incredulously.

"Loki somehow knew that the Jotuns had you, he lured King Laufey into a false sense of security as he snuck him and two of his guard into the chamber, but when their attention was elsewhere he struck. He killed the guards and cornered King Laufey, but he denied that you were with them any longer, he claimed that you were dead." Frigga blinked rapidly in an attempt to disperse the sudden buildup of tears. "Loki went mad. He killed King Laufey and attempted to use the Bifrost to destroy Jotunheim, but then Thor arrived. He had received word of Loki's schemes and returned from his exile in just enough time to prevent Loki from destroying an entire realm in the only way he knew how. He shattered the rainbow bridge, the Bifrost fell into the abyss and Loki fell with it. Thor tried to save him, he caught him, but he did not want to be saved and so he fell."

Harry sat back on his haunches and stared numbly down at his hands, he didn't cry, he had expended all of his tears already, he simply ran over what he had been told in his head. Frigga had been right, everything Loki had done that night had been for him. He had potentially committed treason by allowing the Jotuns into the Allfather's chambers in an attempt to glean his whereabouts from the Jotun King, he had killed said Jotun King and attempted to exterminate an entire race because he thought he had been killed by their hands, and he had allowed himself to fall because he had not been able to avenge his death. He had indirectly caused the death of his father, just as had caused the death of so many others. Perhaps he was cursed.

"I need to leave," Harry muttered, rising to his feet.

"You have not yet met the others," Frigga protested.

"I can't, not right now. I need to go home."

"Why?"

"This place feels wrong," Harry shook his head in frustration. "How can you people be so...so…My father, a prince of Asgard died last night, and your people are celebrating. I cannot be here for this."

He turned imploring green eyes on Frigga and she seemed to fold under the power. "I could never ask that of you."

Harry sighed in relief. "Thank you. I would ask one more thing of you, however."

"Name it."

"Do not tell the Allfather nor Thor of my existence, not yet. I need a little more time."

Frigga hesitated, then slowly nodded. "You have my word."

"I am grateful." He allowed the woman to wrap him in one last embrace. "We will meet again," he assured her. "Soon."

"I can only hope."

* * *

Asgard had more than lived up to Harry's expectations, it was truly a sight worth marveling over. But it was a sight he could not and would not enjoy without his father at his side, so he chose to return to Midgard where he could properly mourn the greatest loss of his short life.

The trek up the mountain was infinitely harder than it had been going down. The knowledge that his father, the first person to love and care for him unconditionally, was _dead_, gone, never to walk the nine realms again, weighed upon him like nothing else could. Each step up the mountain was a monumental effort, made worse by the strains of a lively melody and sounds of revelry that followed him all the way to the cave in which he'd slept the previous night.

Harry's third trip through the portal was near flawless. There were no unfortunate stumbles, no detours to unfamiliar, unfriendly lands, only a handful of minutes in a maelstrom of light and color he was quickly becoming accustomed to and a painful ejection from a portal stationed several meters above the ground. He glanced around warily, checking for muggles who'd caught sight of his arrival, but it looked as if it were very late at night, or else very early in the morning, so the park was deserted. His luck always showed itself in the oddest ways.

Grimmauld Place was almost exactly how he had left it, if not a bit dustier, but standing in the darkened entrance hall, Harry had never felt so distant from this place. After being held prisoner of the Jotuns for however many weeks and spending nearly the entire day on Asgard, it felt surreal to be back on Midgard in this tiny, dingy townhouse he'd once called home.

"Kreacher."

A tiny _pop_ heralded the house elf's arrival seconds before his babbling did. "Master Harry. It has been many weeks. Kreacher hopes his travels were fruitful."

"I got the answers I'd been searching for," Harry said softly. "I suppose that qualifies as fruitful seeing."

"Master Harry must be tired after having traveled so far and for so long. Should Kreacher prepare his room?"

Harry hesitated. It had been so long since he had slept in a proper bed, but, after the day's events, he didn't think sleep would be all that forthcoming. "Maybe some tea first?" he requested.

Five minutes later, he was seated at the kitchen table with a mug of freshly brewed tea before him. He didn't drink it, only wrapped his hands around the mug, reveling in the first true warmth his body had felt in ages, even as the rest of his unusually thin form shook with violent tremors.

Now that he was back home on Midgard, he was at a loss as to what to do. The war was over and his father was dead; he hadn't realized it until now, but those two entities were what had made up the majority of his life, fighting and Loki. Now that they were gone, he had nothing, no purpose.

The mug that had only seconds ago been letting off warm tendrils of steam, blistered and cracked under the sudden intense cold radiating from his palms. Harry only sighed softly and pushed the chunks of broken glass and frozen tea aside before folding his arms on the tabletop and burrowing his head into the small space. Maybe it was a mistake to come back here.

Before he could decide whether or not he wanted to stay, light footsteps descended the stairs and entered the kitchen, only to stop short when their owner caught sight of his crumpled, trembling form.

"Neville?" Hermione's voice sounded from somewhere behind him. "Is that you?"

Harry cleared his throat once, despite that, his voice still sounded hoarse and scratchy, unfamiliar to even his ears. "Not exactly."

He could hear the sound of Hermione fumbling around for something and then the light switched on. He slowly turned his face from where he'd had it mashed against his forearms and smiled wearily up at his stunned friend. "Hey, Hermione."

Harry grunted and almost fell out of his chair when Hermione threw herself at him, simultaneously hugging him and punching every inch of flesh she could get at. "Where the hell have you been, you bastard? Do you have any idea how worried we've been? How useless we've felt just sitting around on our _arses_ while we waited for some sort of sign that you were still alive?"

"Merlin, I'm sorry," Harry exclaimed, wincing as each blow landed with bruising accuracy, aggravating his already injured body. "If I could have come home or at least given you lot some form of message trust me I would have. But I wasn't exactly allowed to, being a prisoner of Jotunheim and all."

"Prisoner of…" Hermione shot to her feet and sent him a dirty glare. "I will be right back, if you so much as move a muscle I will end you, Haraldr Kaden."

Harry winced again, but for a whole different reason this time, two names usually meant trouble.

It didn't take long for Hermione to rouse the others, over the years she'd become scarily efficient at using threats of loss of life and limb to wake her boys; within three minutes of her departure, she was once again descending the staircase, this time with Ron, Neville, and Blaise trailing behind her.

"I thought winning the war meant we no longer had to wake up at the arse crack of dawn," Harry heard Ron muttering petulantly. "What is it that's got you all worked up?"

Hermione didn't respond to the boy's griping, there was no need to as at that exact moment they descended the small staircase leading into the kitchen; she was, fortunately, at the front of the group and so wasn't caught in the pile up just at the entrance of the kitchen when Ron, Neville, and Blaise's attention zeroed in on their previously missing friend.

"Harry!" Ron was the first to recover from his surprise. "When did you get here? More importantly, where have you been?"

"It's a long story," the dark haired teen sighed. "Not a fun one either. Before we get to it, would one of you mind giving me a quick look over, I'm pretty sure I've got broken rib among other things and I don't have a wand to patch myself up." He'd been on edge all day, his tension had allowed him to ignore the various injures he'd obtained from Laufey, but now that he was back on Midgard, they were beginning to make themselves known once again.

"Where's your wand?" Ron asked, then sighed at Harry's flat stare. "Long story, right. I'll get the kettle going."

"And I'll check you over for injuries," Neville said. "Where should I focus my attention?"

"My torso mostly."

"All right, shirt off, it'll be easier if I can see what I'm working with."

Attempting to lift his arms over his head caused a sharp pain to stab at his side, Neville immediately stepped up to help him pull the shirt off.

"_Oh._"

Harry blinked at his friend's stricken tone, then followed his gaze down. "Oh."

His chest was a canvas of mottled bruises of varying shades of lurid purples and violent blues; despite his advanced healing and his having acquired them a full day ago, they were showing no signs of healing. What Harry couldn't see was the enormous bruise in the shape of a hand nearly two times as a large as normal man's wrapped around the span of his throat.

Neville's lip thinned in barely concealed anger but, as always, his wand remained steady as he began working on healing Harry. "This shouldn't take long," he said quietly, already running his wand over the left side of Harry's ribcage. "The worst you've got is a fractured rib, the rest is just some really severe bruising."

"So I'll live?"

"That's still up for debate," Hermione frowned. "It really depends on how good your story is."

Ron collected the shattered remnants of Harry's previous mug as well as the chunks of frozen tea and binned them without comment, then placed a fresh mug on the table in front of him. "Give him a chance to gather his thoughts, Hermione," he chastised. "I'm sure his explanation is sound."

Harry smiled gratefully and reached for his mug, choosing to actually drink from this one. "It is actually," he said once Neville had sat back in a seat with a small sigh; his bruises hadn't been healed completely, but they were noticeably lighter and his ribs no longer twinged with every breath. "The portal that was meant to take me to Asgard was a bit trickier to maneuver than I thought it'd be; I stumbled and ended up on Jotunheim. The Frost Giants were less than pleased with the perceived intrusion and so threw me in the dungeons."

"That would explain why Loki said he hadn't seen you on Asgard," Blaise said.

Harry straightened up in his seat. "You spoke to my father?"

"Only I did," Neville said, "he showed up at Hogwarts looking for you. He didn't say much, only that he'd been held on Asgard against his will. He left just as soon as he found out you'd gone looking for him."

"How long ago was that?"

"Day before yesterday," Ron answered. "We've been here ever since. How did you get free, did Loki come for you?"

A bitter smile twisted Harry's lips. "Not exactly. I'm still putting together everything I've been told but I think I've got the basic idea down. Somehow my dad found out I was being prisoner held on Jotunheim, so he devised a plan to lure Laufey away, draw him into a false sense of security by allowing him into Odin's bedchambers where he tricked him into believing he'd let him kill the Allfather while he was in the Odinsleep. I don't know what he intended to do when he had Laufey where he wanted, that part was never made clear, but things went wrong nearly right off the bat. Laufey knew it was a trap before he even left for Asgard, he knew that I was Loki's son and that he was tricking Laufey to get me back." Harry gestured loosely at his torso. "He was the one to leave me these lovely bruises.

"He still went to Asgard, all the way to the Allfather's bedchambers, there he and my father fought, but sometime during the struggle Laufey told him I was dead, that he'd killed me. He underestimated my father's rage, rather than falling into despair and handing him an easy win like he no doubt had hoped, Dad was infuriated, he killed Laufey then he went to the Bifrost where he attempted to use its energy to destroy the rest of Jotunheim."

"But you were still on it," Hermione whispered, horrified.

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "That's actually how I got free, the Bifrost was literally tearing Jotunheim apart; debris fell through the ceiling of my cell, knocked down some walls and I was able to worm my way to freedom." Harry's trembling hands wrapped around his mug and he took another halfhearted sip. "Back on Asgard, Uncle Thor was trying to stop Dad from destroying an entire realm, they fought, he destroyed the Bifrost, and Dad fell."

"Fell?" Ron asked.

Harry could feel his heart attempting to climb up his throat. "Off the edge of the Rainbow Bridge. My dad's dead."

Harry closed his eyes and waited. Waited as his words washed over his friends and they slowly processed their meaning.

"No," Hermione whispered, tiny and broken and so unlike the strong, young woman he was used to, her face was flushed and her eyes were overbright. "Oh, Harry, _no_."

Neville and Blaise were sitting side by side, faces drawn and clearly at a loss for words, but Ron…Ron looked infuriated_._

"Haven't you been through enough?" he hissed. "_Fuck_, Harry. You just fought a war, one of our best friends is gone, and now _this_? Who the hell do I have to fight for you to getting a fucking break?"

Harry blinked in shock, he had expected anger of course, especially from Ron who was notorious for his short temper, but he still found himself blindsided by the pure vehemence and fierce protectiveness his friend was exhibiting.

Ron angrily pushed himself from his seat and pulled Harry into a gruff hug. "This isn't fair."

Harry allowed his head to fall onto Ron's shoulder. "I know," he whispered. "But I'm tired of being upset. I don't want to cry anymore."

"There's nothing wrong with crying," Ron said as he threw an arm around Harry's shoulder and placed it lightly on the back of his head. "We just fought a war, we _killed _people. And then the moment it's over, you're running off on yet another adventure on a world we can't even follow you to. You never gave yourself the chance to properly mourn Draco or Luna or any of the others, and now you've got another death weighing on your heart. So if you need to cry then _cry, _rant and rave and burn this whole place down to the ground if you have to; it's all right, you can do that now because you're _home_."

"Home," Harry repeated. "I don't even know what that feels like anymore."

"That's all right," Hermione spoke up as she quickly swiped at her eyes before gracing him with a small smile. "That's what you have us for."

Harry choked on a broken sob and buried his face in Ron's shoulder. Maybe returning to Grimmauld Place _did _have its merits, sure it seemed so much more dark and depressing than it had been before his departure and it brought forth all sorts of memories that made his throat tight and his heart ache, but if he was going to be miserable and nostalgic at least he could do so while in good company. And maybe in that time he could look into some of this mourning Ron had mentioned; it never hurt to try.

* * *

**A/N: I want to say this is one of, if not **_**the**_**, last chapter that will end on a sad note, but honestly I can't make any promises. I've actually had a few people who are upset by the angsty turn the story has taken, *shrugs* sorry not sorry. This is a really rough time for Harry, he's been thrust from one war right into another, people he loves are dying and he's trying to learn how to cope with it. That being said, though there will be mucho angst, I promise not to kill you with sadness, Harry will be catching a break sooner or later, not to mention as he is faced with the darker parts of the Marvel 'verse he will adapt and eventually regain his usual brand of dry wit and humor. So allow him to grieve while it lasts. **

**This will likely be the last chapter of twenty-fifteen so happy Christmas, Hanukah, Kwaanza, and just plain holidays to all, and I'll see you again in the new year! **


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

The thing about physical ailments- cuts, bruises, broken bones, and the like- was that, depending upon the severity of the wound, they hurt like a son of a bitch when first inflicted; whether it be a burning in one centralized point or a throbbing throughout an entire limb, there was always some form of pain.

What most didn't consider, at least not until they were experiencing it themselves, was that the healing hurt just as much as the inflicting, most noticeably in broken bones. As bone knitted itself back together, a dull ache radiated perpetually from the point of injury, continuing throughout and often after the healing process; sub-acute pain is what it was called.

What Harry had learned these past few months was that the same could be said for internal pains as well. Draco and Luna's death's had been like a badly broken bone, a fractured radius perhaps or a shattered kneecap; he hadn't even _begun_ to heal from either before he was blindsided by the knife in the ribs, the bullet to the gut that was Loki's death. It would be months, maybe even years before the ache of healing began to show any sign of receding.

The first few weeks following Harry's return to Midgard were…quiet. After the first night, in which they all raged and cried over yet another loss, Blaise, Hermione, Neville, and Ron continued on with what they'd been doing before his return; helping sweep up the last of the rubble from Hogwarts' halls, visiting what remained of their families and friends, and sometimes stopping to have a drink at the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry, on the other hand, kept himself locked up in Grimmauld Place, he didn't lie around all day soaking in his misery, but rather helped Kreacher around the house or browsed the collection of obscure books in the Black family's library, but he moved with all of the life of an Inferius. Without the fire that lit his green eyes or the confident strut to his step, he was near unrecognizable. It didn't take long for his friends to realize that he wasn't getting over the successive losses he'd endured, he was only bottling up his anger and grief and putting up a façade of normalcy; a tactic they all knew would only end in disaster.

They all put forth their own efforts to coax him from the house, ranging from subtle bribery to outright begging, but in the end it was the Daily Prophet that did the trick. Hermione liked to keep up with the news and so an owl dropped off a paper every morning for her to read over tea and toast. She knew Harry had been actively avoiding any mention of the wizarding world since returning so, usually, she tossed it after she was through, but a commotion from Ron's bedroom drew her away from the dining table before she had a chance.

Harry stumbled into the kitchen, still sleep rumpled and half conscious, a few minutes after her hasty departure, after gulping down what was left of her cooling tea and pouring himself a new mug, he found the paper beside her plate of toast folded neatly in half and sitting face up so that only the attention grabbing headline and first half of the text could be seen. It was another hatchet job about Harry's sudden disappearance immediately following his defeat of Voldemort, but it wasn't the reporters disparaging remarks that caught his attention, but rather the date at the very top of the page: _June 10__th_. It had been two months since the end of the war, two months since he'd lost Draco and he hadn't paid his grave a visit since the day he was put in the ground.

The though sent an unexpected lance of disquiet through Harry. Three months ago he didn't go a day without seeing Draco at least thrice, oftentimes more, but somehow he'd managed two whole months without the blonde.

Harry set aside the paper and made his way to the main staircase, he followed the sounds of muffled expletives to Ron's bedroom, where he and Hermione were battling what looked to be a fully grown doxy's nest in his armoire.

Ron was the first to catch sight of him idling in the doorway, a safe distance from the rabid little creatures; he sent a grin in Harry's direction while simultaneously batting away a doxy trying to bite at his nose.

"Come to join us in the epic battle against the doxies?" he asked. "We've got them cornered, if you're quick you might be able to help us deal the killing blow."

Harry couldn't suppress the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. "I'm afraid I'm a bit out of practice. I'll let you do the honors."

Ron took only half a second to take in Harry's uncharacteristically alert expression before he reached out and swung the armoire doors shut, effectively cutting off the swarm of doxies. "I'm sure they won't mind waiting a few minutes to meet their end. What's got you out and about?"

Harry bit his lip as Ron and Hermione joined him in the hall. "It's been two months since the war," he said.

"Already?" Hermione exclaimed. "It feels as if it was only a few weeks ago."

Harry shrugged. "It feels longer for me, a lot's happened these past few months." He hesitated for half a second. "I want to see Draco."

"Draco…" Hermione hedged. "You mean his grave."

Harry nodded.

"When?"

"Today. Right now."

"I'm all for it," Ron said. "But maybe give us a bit to get collected? Get some breakfast in you, that'll give us enough time to round up Blaise and Neville and prepare them for a venture into the outside world."

Harry looked reluctant, but nodded in acquiescence nonetheless. "One hour?"

"That'll be more than enough time. Eat some toast, we'll be ready by the time you're through."

Ron turned out to be second only to Hermione in the art of wrangling their friends from their respective bedrooms. It didn't even take a full half hour for them to change into clothes free of any revealing holes or questionable stains and convene in the kitchen.

The plot in which Draco had been buried was centuries old and home to countless Malfoys both of blood and marriage; Draco, being recently deceased, was at the very back of the land, past what felt like miles of outrageously extravagant crypts and ancient, crumbling tombs. The first and only time Harry had been here had been the day Draco was buried, and Harry had been so distraught over both his friend's death and his father's disappearance, he hadn't exactly stuck around past the actual burying part, he certainly hadn't given himself time to examine Draco's headstone up close. Looking at it now, he was stunned by how little it held; the smooth-cut alabaster stone bore only his name, the day he was born, and the day he died. There was no inscription, no loving quote to immortalize just how much he'd meant to some people, just those two, neutral lines.

Harry ran his hand over the stone's smooth face, overwhelmed by the sheer impersonality of it all. "It's just a rock," he whispered.

For the first time in a long while, Harry felt a curl of rage in his gut, the fancy slab of stone with its bland words etched into its front did nothing to sum up the man Draco Malfoy had grown to be. Draco had done too much good, sacrificed too much, to be reduced to nothing more than a boring white stone in a sea of identical boring white stones.

"I know," Blaise agreed softly, as if afraid that if he spoke to loud they might wake the plot's occupants. If only. "I've come here nearly every week since he died, and yet, no matter how many times I see this thing, I can't ever quite come to terms with the fact that this is Draco's final resting place. He was a man of outrageous tastes and extravagant gestures, I would have expected weeping angels or marble dragons eight feet long and encrusted with actual, priceless gems. Not…this."

Neville laughed tremulously. "Too right you are," he said. "Draco was…he was something else."

"I believe the word you're looking for is prat," Ron said, his face was soft and yet the tiniest bit broken despite the strength he seemed to exude constantly nowadays. "I suppose he was all right these past few years, but _Merlin_ he was a frightful, little beast when we first met. I swear I could always see up his nose he had it stuck up so high, and the way he always called us by out last names: Potter, Longbottom_, Weaslebe_, it drove me mad."

"He was a bit of a handful in the beginning, wasn't he?" Hermione agreed. "He changed so much since that first night on the train. I can still remember how easily he flung around insults like _mudblood_ and _blood traitor_, and yet in the end he died protecting those very sort of people."

"Hey now," Ron said warningly, reaching out to swipe away a tear from her cheek, "none of that. This isn't going to be another pity party, I've decided this is to be a celebration."

"A celebration?" Neville repeated curiously.

Ron held up one finger, signaling for them to wait where they were, then ran off in the direction of the cemetery; when he had cleared the gates there was the distinctive _crack_ of apparation, then silence.

Harry, Neville, Blaise, and Hermione exchanged looks, confused as to where he'd run off to; they weren't left to wonder for long, however, it wasn't even five minutes before Ron was jogging back through the winding rows of tombstones. When he was only a few feet away, the four teens noticed the two bottles tucked close to his side.

"Like I said," he proclaimed, collapsing into the grass among his friends and holding up his newest acquisition, two full bottles of firewhiskey, "this is to be a celebration. Hermione, could you…"

Hermione drew her wand and transfigured a handful of pebbles into five slightly warped glasses, Ron filled each nearly three quarters of the way and passed them around their little semi-circle.

Harry had never had anything stronger than a butterbeer, but he knocked the drink back as if he'd done it a thousand times before and immediately held out his glass for another.

"Do you remember fourth year," Ron said after they'd each finished off their glasses and went for refills, "and those _awful_ robes Mum gave me for the ball? The maroon ones with the lace on the cuffs?"

"How could we forget?" Neville laughed.

"Draco made a big deal about teasing me about them on the train, but a few days before the ball he gave me a new set, these great dark blue ones he told me would bring out my only remarkable feature." He tapped the side of his face, beside his dark blue eyes.

"I hadn't even noticed," Blaise murmured.

"He didn't make a big fuss about it," Ron shrugged. "You were right when you said he was a man of extravagant gestures, but he made a point to be discreet about it because he knew I would be uncomfortable with that sort of thing.

"I had my reservations that first year, but as we got older Draco proved time and time again that he was a great friend and the best of men." He held his glass up. "So here's to Draco, may he be causing all sorts of grief on the other side."

"To Draco," Hermione smiled, raising her glass to stand alongside Ron's.

"And our Loony Luna Lovegood," Neville said as he and Blaise lifted their glasses. "Thanks to her, I look at the world differently now, and it's all the more beautiful for it."

Harry hesitated only briefly before moving to add his glass to the collection; the sunlight streamed through them at just the right angle so that they cast a soft amber glow over Draco's grave. "And Loki," he whispered. "Who taught me how to love, how to be brave and strong and _good_, and how to triumph no matter the odds."

The four glasses clinked softly together, then Harry, Hermione, Ron, Neville and Blaise tossed back their drinks and set them aside, none of them went for refills.

"It's hard to imagine I'll ever be happy again," Harry said contemplatively. "Not after all that's happened."

"You will be," Blaise assured, "one day."

"But it's not going to happen overnight," Neville said. "Or if you keep yourself locked away in Grimmauld Place with just the house elf and the four of us for company. You've got to try, mate."

"And that doesn't mean popping into Diagon Alley during rush hour," Ron added. "You just need to get out of the house more, go on some walks, Mum's been dying to have you over for dinner for the longest time now."

"Dinner…I could do dinner."

Ron grinned. "That's a start."

"I was also thinking about maybe tracking down the rest of my siblings," Harry said hesitantly. "I've met Hela and Sleipnir, it'd be nice to get to know the others."

"Hogwarts would be a great place to start looking, the library at least," Hermione suggested. "I don't think McGonagall would have a problem letting you use it."

"We've gotten pretty good at research what with the Horcruxes and the T.A and the Triwizard, this should be a breeze."

"You think?" Harry smiled.

"After all the hell we've been through?" Ron said. "An easy time is _the least_ the universe owes us."

"I can't disagree with you there," Harry laughed ruefully. "So dinner with your mum tomorrow, and then a meeting with McGonagall."

"And maybe Remus as well," Neville recommended. "He's asked after you, but we told him you were going through a rough time and he promised to give you some space."

Harry nodded. "Weasley's, McGonagall, Remus," he listed. "I can do that."

"It'll be hard getting back into the swing of things," Hermione told him. "But it'll get easier the more time that passes."

"In three words I can sum up everything that I have learned about life," Blaise said. "It goes on."

Hermione looked stunned. "Was that Robert Frost?"

The dark skinned teen shrugged. "I like poems."

Harry's second laugh was infinitely happier than his first. "I'd almost forgotten, I introduced Blaise and Draco to a few muggle authors back in fifth year. Blaise took a shine to Frost and the like, and Draco, though he never would have admitted it, loved the Lord of the Rings. The Hobbit was his absolute favorite, though, read it in Defense when we were supposed to be reading up on magical theory." He turned his suddenly brilliant smile on Hermione. "You've read them, right? I'm sure you could guess who his favorite character was."

Hermione thought for only a half a minute before a smile stretched her lips. "Smaug?"

Harry nodded. "I suppose he felt there was a likeliness between the two of them, though I, personally, couldn't see it."

"Of course you couldn't, you always had the habit of seeing the best in people, us especially, and Smaug wasn't the most honorable of characters."

"But Draco was," Harry said firmly. "I was never blind to his faults; he was arrogant, bossy, and he took _so long _in the bathroom, but I was able to overlook all of that because there so much good in him. The same for all of you as well; Blaise is stuck up, sometimes I wonder if Neville loves his plants more than us, Hermione is a know it all, and Ron is the very epitome of Gryffindor, but I couldn't have asked for better friends."

"And you wouldn't have found any if you had," Ron said, but a soft smile adorned his face, betraying just how much Harry's words had touched him.

"I know I don't say this as often as I should, but I love you guys. Thank you for being with me through everything, the good times and the bad."

Hermione laced her fingers through Harry's. "It has been our genuine pleasure."

They left Draco and the countless generations that had come before him not much later, though they swore to return often. Ron left behind the second, unopened bottle of firewhiskey, while Harry used Hermione's wand to leave his fallen friend a gift of his own.

It was a chunk of obsidian that stood no more than thirty centimeters high, it was rough, and uneven save for the face, which had been sanded and smoothed until its surface was flat and glossy. It was there Harry carved the words that burned ice white in the stone, a marker better suited for Draco than the impersonal slab of alabaster that served as his grave marker.

_So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their endings._

* * *

Returning to the Burrow was so much easier than it had any right to be. The last time Harry had been in the cozy, magically fortified house had been the week of Bill and Fleur's wedding, what felt like a lifetime ago, but the moment he stepped through the doorway, the smell of Mrs. Weasley cooking, the sounds of Fred and George and Ginny getting up to some sort of mischief, and the sight of Mr. Weasley and Bill and Charlie and all of the others waiting with wide smiles and cheerful greetings made him feel as if he'd never even left.

"It's so good to see you, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley exclaimed when he ventured into the kitchen to greet her. The warm, motherly hug she engulfed him in had him wondering how he had gone so long without one and vowing to himself he would never again go more than a few days without one of Molly Weasley's hugs. "Where have you been hiding all this time?"

"Grimmauld Place for the most part," Harry told her. "I've been working through some things and needed a bit of quiet."

"I'd say you could have done that just as well here but..." A crash from the living room followed by Fred and George's gleeful hollering proved the point she hadn't even felt the need to put to words. "Were you able to work through everything you needed to?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm getting there."

Mrs. Weasley nodded understandingly. "Well, if you ever need to talk, no matter when or where it is or what it's about, we'll always be here for you, Arthur and I. I like to think we've been through enough that I can start calling you one of my boys."

"Thank you," Harry murmured, squeezing the older woman's hands in his own.

"Think nothing of it, love. Now, would you mind helping me set the table? Dinner's just about finished."

Harry had always loved meals with the Weasleys if only because of how different they were from mealtime at the Dursley household, everyone was knocking elbows with their neighbors, reaching around and over each other to reach the dishes while a thousand and one conversations were carried on along the table. It was chaotic, but at the same time, there was a sense of order to it, some degree of control that saw the entire meal pass without any serious accidents or messes occurring.

Once everyone had had fourth and fifth helpings of dessert, they settled down in the living room to listen to the wireless while their food digested. Harry wound up sharing a couch with Bill and Mr. Weasley, who he quickly got to work catching up with.

Bill and Fleur had finally settled into their home, a cottage near the coast of Cornwall; with the war over and the wizarding world finally settling into a state that vaguely resembled peace, they were considering making moves to start their family. An idea Mrs. Weasley was thrilled to hear, no doubt.

Mr. Weasley, on the other hand, had returned to his job at the Ministry. He professed to having missed the easy routine of it during the war, but, at times, the changes made to his department and the Ministry as a whole post-Voldemort often made him wonder if he'd be better off retiring a little early.

"The Minister, for example," Mr. Weasley huffed. "He's been breathing down my neck about you since the day I returned."

Harry's brow furrowed, he'd never met the newly appointed Minister of Magic or really even heard of him until he'd been appointed. He was just another puffed up politician who'd hidden himself away during the war while his predecessors were hunted down and killed during Voldemort's coup. "What's he breathing down your neck about me for?" he asked, though he had a sneaking suspicion that he already knew the answer.

"No one forgot about your announcement in the Great Hall, you know the one about you being the son of a god and all. Some just passed it off as another one of your ego trips, but, Merlin knows why, even more actually believed you."

"Beheading one of the worst Dark Lords we've seen in centuries after beating him to a proverbial pulp, both physically and verbally, probably had something to do with it," Bill said drily.

I suppose the Minister found out that you and Ron are pretty good friends and figured I'd know how to get in contact with you. He's been heckling me since he came to the conclusion, even threatened to see me fired if I don't start complying, I've half a mind to take him up on the offer."

"That isn't right," Harry frowned. "You've spent too much of your life working for the Ministry, they can't just kick you to the curb because you're not giving them what they want. If you leave, it'll be on your own terms. I'll talk to the Minister, set him straight and make sure nothing like this happens again. It's high time I've put this matter to rest anyway."

"What do you intend to say to him?"

Harry shrugged. "I think I'll just wing it. I've always been inordinately good at improvised speeches."

"You _can_ be pretty persuasive when you want to be," Bill agreed. "But the Minister is a whole other breed of man, his kind are notoriously difficult to reason with."

"Then, I'll just have to switch my tactics up a bit. Either way, I'm sure I'll be able to get my point across." Harry's smile was tinged with something sharp and fueled by a fire none of his friends had seen since before the war's end. "I'm persuasive like that."

* * *

Flynn McTaggart had been in politics since his early twenties; he'd been in the business of dealing with crooked politicians, incompetent Wizengamot members, and elected officials more interested in public opinion and remaining in office than actually improving their world for _thirty-three years_. He liked to think he'd met every sort of man there was and found himself uncowed by each one of them.

But then came Harry Potter.

The boy arrived at his office sans an appointment, but his assistant (bless her poor, soon to be unemployed soul) had been too intimidated by his mere presence to deny him entrance to the Minister's office and only meekly followed behind him to announce his arrival.

McTaggart was taken aback by the unexpected visit, he'd been trying to arrange some sort of meeting with Potter since he'd realized he had the father of one of the boy's closest friends working as one of his Department heads. However, none of his efforts had yielded any results.

But he was nothing if not an opportunist, and so hid his surprise with natural born ease and graciously gestured for Potter to be seated.

"Would you like some tea, Mr. Potter?" he asked, once the young man had settled down in the seat directly opposite him. "I'm sure I could get someone to wrangle us up a plate of biscuits if you're feeling a bit peckish."

"Spare me the pleasantries, McTaggart. I'm not here to share biscuits or make small talk," the boy drawled. "You've been harassing my family, I've come to put an end to it."

"I…excuse me?" What family of Potter's had he been harassing? What family did Potter _have_ for him to harass?

"Arthur Weasley, Head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects and previous Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. You've been badgering him for quite some time about a meeting with me, even threatened to see him dismissed from his job a few times. I'm here now so speak, but make it quick, I've not got all day."

McTaggart spent a full thirty seconds gaping at the boy. Yes, he'd been vying for a meeting with Potter, but as he had yet to procure any form of confirmation he hadn't actually thought about what he would say to the boy when they did meet. "I just…The claims you made during your final duel with You-Know-Who," he eventually managed to string together, "are they true?"

Potter raised a brow at him. "Of course they are. I'm no liar."

"But how? When?"

"Well, you see when a man and a woman love each other very much, or in my parent's case, thought each other wildly attractive, they-"

"That's not what I meant," McTaggart snapped, momentarily forgetting his befuddlement. "There hasn't been evidence of the presence of the gods here on earth in thousands of years. Why is it now that they've decided to come to Earth and…procreate?"

"I must confess that I know very little about the circumstances surrounding my conception. My father was never very forthcoming when it came to the reasons as to why he was on Midgard and what it was that drew him to my mother. I always chalked it up to chance and her being in the right place at the right time.

"You're wrong, however, in assuming this is the first instance a god has walked the earth this millennia. They've come to Midgard every now and then for various reasons, I suppose they just got better at hiding who and what they truly were."

"How have we never known what you were? The world has only ever known of you as the son of James and Lily Potter."

Potter shrugged "I never wanted you to know."

"Your actions say otherwise," the Minister pointed out. "If you hadn't wanted us to know about your lineage, you wouldn't have announced it before a captive audience. Why now?"

"The war was ending, Voldemort was to be dead soon, I guess I was done hiding. It's exhausting keeping a secret of that magnitude. Besides, I'd told most of the Order a few months beforehand, they even met my father, and with that many people…that many _mouths_, it was bound to come out eventually. I wanted it to be on my own terms."

"They met your father?"

Harry nodded.

"I would like to meet him as well."

"No."

"It would go a long way in proving the validity of your claims," McTaggart protested.

"You need no other proof than my word."

"I'm sorry Mr. Potter, but I do. It would be unreasonable for me to accept you only at your word. Perhaps you would allow us to run a few tests, take a few samples."

"No. I'm not some lab experiment for you to toy with as you see fit," Potter snapped. "I did not come here to prove anything to you, I came to put an end to your constant harassment of a man who is very close to me. I have done my part, I've given you the information you asked for, and so I believe it is past time I took my leave." The young man pinned the Minister with a poisonous green stare. "You will pursue this no further," he said. "Swear it."

"I will do no such thing!" McTaggart exclaimed.

A sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff burst from between Potter's lips, he shook his head at the older man and slowly rose from his seat, pushing his long sleeved shirt past his elbows as he did. A deep, frostbitten blue began creeping up his fingers, past his wrists and over his arms until it disappeared beneath his sleeve. The Minister was too transfixed with the unholy transformation to even think to draw his wand when Potter began moving in his direction, a predatory prowl in each step.

"Did you ever wonder why Bellatrix Lestrange never spoke the last few years of her life?"

McTaggart blinked at the non-sequitur but silently shook his head. He let out an agonized gasp when Potter pressed his index finger into the flesh of the inside of his wrist, it burned and darkened beneath his touch.

"Frostbite," the boy said quietly, almost reverently. "My touch is so cold, it freezes your flesh and the nerves beneath it. I got my hands around her throat and held on just tight enough so she wasn't quite choking; the cold did irreparable damage to her vocal chords, would have killed her if Voldemort hadn't come to her aid the very moment he did.

"I was _fifteen_. Imagine what I could do now, so much more powerful and positive that no one will be coming to _your _aid."

McTaggart yelped when Potter grabbed onto the base of his little finger, the skin immediately began to blister and blacken.

"I could destroy your hands, finger by finger until there was nothing left but blackened, useless stumps…_Or_," Potter released his hold on McTaggart's finger, and seated himself on the edge of his desk, "you could swear to end your search for the truth of my lineage and you can live to keep your fingers another day. Swear an Unbreakable Vow, right here, right now, and you'll never have to see me again." He flashed a deceptively charming grin. "Not unless you want to that is."

"Who will be our witness?" McTaggart whispered.

Potter's head tilted in the direction of the door leading out into the reception area. "Your lovely assistant will do in a pinch."

And that she did. It wasn't even five minutes before they settled on the exact wording of their oath, called in the Minister's assistant, and had her perform the vow for them. The moment it was done, Potter flashed him another of his deceiving smiles and sauntered from the room, happy as a clam and without a trace of blue to his fingers.

McTaggart sat back in his seat with a heavy sigh. Thirty-three years in politics and he had never met a man quite like Potter. He could only hope he never would again.

* * *

Harry returned to Grimmauld Place in unusually high spirits, it seemed threatening the life and well-being of high ranking government officials was the perfect anti-depressant. It was likely because of his good mood that he didn't even bat an eye when Hermione accosted him the moment he stepped through the doors with news that he had a visitor.

"I'm sorry," she fretted as she followed him down the hall to the library. "I would have turned him away, but he just looked _so _happy and I didn't have the heart. I can tell him you're not up to it though, if you'd like, I don't want to force you to do anything before you're ready."

"It's fine," Harry said placatingly, "I planned to write him asking him to come over tonight anyway. This just saves me the trouble." He stopped in front of the closed library doors. "Would you mind giving us a few minutes? I want some time to catch up."

"Of course," Hermione gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Just give a shout when you're through, I want to hear all about how your meeting with the Minister went."

Once she had left in the direction of the kitchen, Harry pushed open the thick oak doors and entered the library. Remus was seated at the table closest to the door, flipping through a thick text, but, the moment Harry entered the room, he was on his feet.

"Hey, cub," he said, moving to wrap Harry in a hug. "I'm sorry for dropping in without warning, I know I should have waited for you to contact me, but when Hermione finally told me you were in the right headspace to see me I couldn't wait a moment longer."

"It's all right, Moony. I'm sorry for shutting you out for so long, I've had a rough few weeks and just needed some time to get my head on straight."

"Don't apologize, we all had our different ways of coping." Remus leveled him with a playfully stern scowl. "Just don't do it again."

"Yes, professor."

A wide smile spread across the man's face. "Speaking of which, guess who will be returning to Hogwarts as the Defense Against the Dark Art's professor."

"You?" Harry exclaimed. "Congratulations."

"Thank you. Slughorn decided he'd had enough adventures these past few years to last him the rest of his life, so he decided to step down from his position as Potion's professor. I suppose Severus didn't want to see another 'imbecile' in his lab and so wasted no time in reclaiming the post, leaving the DADA positon up for grabs."

"I envy the lucky bastards you'll be teaching. You were by far the best DADA professor we had."

"Well, since you never technically graduated Hogwarts, we could always make arrangements for you to return and finish your education. You likely wouldn't be the only one going that route as not a lot of learning occurred last year."

Harry hummed thoughtfully. "I'll have to think on that, it'd be nice to have a bit of normalcy and routine again. But how does McGonagall intend to handle this upcoming year? It's like you said, not a lot of learning occurred last year, but there were still classes, things just got a bit hectic with the influx of refugee coming in. Will she require everyone to retake the previous year or will she bump us all up and hope for the best?"

"Neither, on the first day of term, everyone, barring the first years of course, will take the final exams from the year before. So seventh years will take the sixth year finals, sixth years will take the fifth, and so forth. If you pass majority of your tests you will be allowed to move on to the year you're meant to be in, if you fail you'll be required to repeat the previous year."

"That's a good system," Harry commended. "I was never McGonagall's biggest fan, but it seems as if she's got everything well in hand."

"This might be the calmest year Hogwarts has had in a while."

"Especially if I decide not to attend."

"You did have the unfortunate habit of attracting trouble," Remus agreed.

"How is that a habit?! I didn't _ask _for trouble to be attracted to me, if I'd had my way I would have gladly spent all seven years under the radar."

"Now that's a lie and you know it."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. But the point still stands, trouble was attracted to _me_ not the other way around."

"Oh really?" Remus arched an eyebrow. "Is that why Ron told me the reason you went out today was to confront the_ Minister of Magic_ about harassing Arthur Weasley? That is the definition of asking for trouble.

"That was different. He was threatening to fire Mr. Weasley if I didn't talk to him. What would that make me if I just let that happen? I couldn't just ignore him, so I went to put an end to it."

"And how did that go?"

"Pretty well, all things considered," Harry said, maybe just a touch defensively. "He wanted to know about the whole being descended from a god thing, so I told him. He wanted to collect samples of me and meet my father, and I denied him. He tried to kick up a fuss when I demanded he swear to quit trying to figure out everything about me, but I'm a persuasive guy, he did it in the end."

Remus shook his head. "I'm not even going to ask what you did to persuade him, that may make me an accessory to the crime when the Aurors come for you, and they _will _come. How's your father by the way? Did you ever find out where he'd disappeared to?"

The smile Harry had been sporting since he'd first arrived melted off his face with a startling quickness. "Uh…yeah, I did. He was on Asgard the whole time, there's a lot to it and I'm not really up to recounting the whole thing again, but, long story short, he's…he's dead."

Remus looked stricken. "Oh cub, I'm so sorry."

Harry smiled wanly at him. "It's all right, I'm healing. Ron and the others have been a great help, and just talking to you has already made me happier."

"I'm glad to hear it." Remus took his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. "And if you ever need _anything_, I'm here for you."

"It seems I have a lot of people willing to drop everything if I need them," Harry noted. "I never would have thought it true, but the thought alone helps a lot."

"It's always good to be reminded of the people who love you."

Remus hung around for a few more hours in which he and Harry caught up on what they'd missed out in the others' lives. When it began growing dark, Remus decided it was time to head home, promising he would stop by again within the next week or so for dinner and to catch up with everyone else.

Hermione and the others must have heard Remus leaving as, the moment the door closed, they were trouping down the staircase.

"Remus is gone?" Neville asked, poking his head around the corner leading into the entrance hall.

"He left in a hurry, but he promised to visit in a few days," Harry said. "Sorry for monopolizing him."

"It's fine," Neville waved him off. "I'll see him when he stops by next. Right now I want to hear all about how your meeting with the Minister went."

The five friends returned to the library where Harry spent the next half hour detailing his conversation with McTaggart. They were all, understandably, awed by the tale he spun.

"I still don't understand this whole Frost Giant thing," Hermione said. "So you can summon this second form at will with just a thought?"

"I can't summon it fully just yet, the furthest I've gotten so far is halfway down my chest, but I get tired if I hold it for too long."

"Is that all you can do with it?" Blaise asked. "Turn your skin blue and freeze people with your touch."

"I've seen Frost Giants form rudimentary weapons from ice, but I haven't quite got down the logistics of that one yet."

"It'll just be another thing to add to the list of things we need to research," Hermione said. "Harry's Frost Giant abilities and where to find his sibling."

"I've actually been thinking about that second one a bit," Harry said hesitantly. "And I've come up with a conclusion you may not like."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, but she gestured for him to continue speaking.

"I don't think we'll find either of my brothers' whereabouts in a book in Hogwarts' library. If it were that easy, Dad would have found them a long time ago. Only a few people know where they're being kept, the main two being Odin…and Frigga."

Ron groaned in exasperation. "You want to go back to Asgard, don't you?"

"It might be the only way. I've spoken with Frigga, she knows me and who I am now, with my father dead she may be feeling a bit more willing to share the secret of their whereabouts."

"I can see the logic behind what you're saying," Hermione frowned. "But I _really _don't like the thought of you going through that portal again. What if you stumble again and end up on Jotunheim? Or somewhere worse this time? We only just got you back, Harry."

"I won't stumble, I wasn't expecting it that first time, but I'm better prepared now. I traveled through that portal two times afterwards and ended up fine both times. That was a one-time fluke."

Hermione didn't look the slightest bit convinced.

"All right, how about this," Harry sighed, "I show you where to find the portal and how to use it without stumbling, and, if I don't return in one week, you can come after me."

Hermione exchanged glances with Blaise, Neville, and Ron. "Three days," she countered. "I'll give you three days before I go through that portal. I will tear down all of Asgard and all of Jotunheim if that's what it takes to find you. I don't intend on going to anyone else's funeral, Harry, least of all yours."

* * *

Harry instructed his friends on how to use the portal that very night, even going so far as to take them to Stonehenge so that they could see exactly where it was located, but he didn't actually leave for Asgard until the following morning.

He didn't bother walking down the mountain this time, he felt comfortable enough with his location to apparate to the bottom, though he still chose to make the hour long journey through the forest at its base.

It was harder getting into Sleipnir's stable's this time around, not only because it was the middle of the day, but because whatever celebration the Asgardian's had been partaking in had ended, the grounds surrounding the palace were no longer crawling with drunken revelers. It was inconvenient and required Harry to be a bit stealthier than he'd been last time, but he still made it to Sleipnir's stable without being stopped or spotted even once.

Frigga must have had some sort of ward up to alert her when someone, or maybe even Harry exclusively, entered the stable, as he had barely been there for a quarter of an hour before she joined him, looking completely unsurprised by his presence.

"Haraldr," she greeted as she reached out to run a small hand through Sleipnir's mane. "You're back far sooner than I thought you'd be."

"Am I?" Harry asked. "It's been some time for me. After learning of my father's death it took a few weeks to regain my composure."

Frigga's face softened with sadness. "You look well," she murmured. "I'm happy to see you. I have a gift for you, two actually."

Harry perked up in interest when Frigga handed him two bundles of cloth, both tied neatly with a sturdy string.

"I found these in the rubble the day after Loki's death. I didn't know what they were until I met you and learned who you were, I intended to give them to you that night, but you left in such a hurry."

Harry's heart stuttered when he unwrapped first his wand, then the dagger Loki had gifted him when he was only eleven. "Thank you," he whispered, just the slightest bit choked up. "I never thought I'd see these again."

"The knife is an Asgardian weapon. Did Loki give it to you?"

Harry nodded. "It was a gift, he taught me how to fight with it that same year."

"It's a beautiful weapon. I never asked, but how long was Loki in your life? How long have you known of him?"

Harry took a moment to compose himself before answering. "He's known of me since the moment I was born, and he's been watching over me ever since."

"So long," Frigga breathed. "We never…we never even noticed. Though now that I know of your existence, some of his strange behavior these past few years makes a little more sense."

Harry shrugged and smiled ruefully. "I find myself in trouble far more often than I'd care to admit, Dad was always there to get me out of some tight spots. I believe one time he jumped out of the palace window in his haste to reach me."

"Yes, I remember that day quite vividly. What of the most recent time? He stormed from the hall in the middle of planning his brother's coronation and he didn't return for some time."

Harry frowned, there was only one instance in which she could be referring to. "There was a war," he said. "I was injured pretty badly in one of the battles, Dad came to my aid, as always, and when I was better he decided to stick around for a bit, make sure I didn't get into any more trouble."

"We were so blind," Frigga lamented. "So foolish. How did we never suspect?"

"If Dad doesn't want you to know something, you never will."

"But why? Why would he hide you from us?"

Harry arched an eyebrow. "Look where you're standing right now, look around and give me one good reason why my father _should _have told you about me."

Frigga looked confused for a moment, but then realization dawned and her face crumpled. "This is never what we wanted. Things just got out of hand."

"Of course they did, things of this nature always do, which is why there is no reason you should even be mildly surprised he kept this from you."

"We were foolish."

Harry shrugged. "Even the best men usually are at at least one point in their lives, you and my grandfather just had a few more of those moments than most."

"Will you forgive us for taking that away from you?"

"At this point I'm not the one you should be seeking forgiveness from, it was my father and my siblings who were truly wronged," Harry paused for a moment to allow his words to sink in. "I do know, however, of one way you could perhaps begin to make amends."

Frigga frowned. "How?"

"I've met two of my siblings thus far, Hela and Sleipnir. I wish to meet the others."

"And the only way you can do that is if I tell you their locations," the woman completed for him.

"Exactly. Dad said Jormungandr is somewhere on Midgard and Fenris is here on Asgard. I need exact locations."

Frigga seemed troubled, as if she were at war with herself oven whether or not she should reveal the long kept secret. It didn't take long for her to lose the battle. "It's been a very long time since Jormungandr was cast into the oceans of Midgard, I no longer know where he can be found."

"You would think _someone_ would have seen some sign of a serpent large enough to encircle the world in the centuries he's been on Midgard."

A small smile touched the corners of Frigga's lips. "Ah, but he is a son of Loki," she said. "And, just as you told me, if he does not wish to be found, he won't be. On the other hand, I am certain Fenris is exactly where we left him."

"Here on Asgard?"

"Not in the city," Frigga corrected. "Further, much further. He's on the island Lyngvi found in the center of the Amsvartnir lake. The lake is just off the shore of Varinheim."

"How can I get there?"

"It's nearly on the other side of Asgard, a full two day's walk from here," Frigga explained. "You would have to travel through the Forest of Ida and the Asgard Mountains, which will be nearly half the journey. After that, you'll have entered Varinheim, it's mostly woods and marshes so keep an eye out for anything wanting to eat you. It'll be another day's walk before you reach the shore of Amsvartnir."

"And Fenris will just be waiting there on the island?"

"He's bound to a rock by an unbreakable chain, he will not have gone far."

Harry felt a flash of anger at the thought of his brother, chained to a rock like the wild animal he resembled, unable to run and stretch and hunt. Was he even able to catch his own food?

"Has anyone visited him? Has he seen anyone since you tore him from his home and chained him to that forsaken island?"

Frigga didn't say anything, but her solemn expression spoke volumes. Harry forced himself to turn away from her, focusing his attention on stroking a hand through the mane of an unusually docile Sleipnir.

He hadn't imagined he'd ever be faced with so many reasons to hate his family.

* * *

Harry managed to cut the supposedly two day journey nearly in half by apparating back to the cave in which the portal he used to travel between worlds was located. Though he still had to pick his way through a series of winding valleys cut between the peaks before making his way down the slope of the mountain into Varinheim.

The journey through the marshes took closer to two days than it did one, fortunately he'd saved enough time apparating across the mountain rather than traversing it by foot that he still had almost a half day before he was required to return home. Another plus was that he didn't run into a single creature interested in taking a bite out of him, the most fearsome creature he came across was a scaly little thing that resembled a hairless bush baby with ears nearly as long as it was. It ate a few pieces of the dried meats Frigga had supplied him with as sustenance for his journey right from his hand, before scrambling off into the foliage.

Nonetheless, it was a great relief when he broke from the thick trees and knee deep marshes onto the rocky shore. The island was barely visible from the edge of the lake, an indistinguishable smudge in the distance, but there was no boat in sight, only a few pieces of driftwood and a handful of loose rocks. He drew his wand, reveling in the feeling of his magic coursing through this familiar conduit once again, and transfigured one of the many pieces of driftwood into a rudimentary boat. He climbed into it with the slightest bit of reluctance (the last time he'd been on a boat, he'd been attacked by an army of corpses) and pushed away from the shore.

Harry used a mild wind charm to propel the boat across the eerily still waters, the mist out in the middle of the water was so thick he wondered if he was going in the right direction up until the moment the boat collided with the shore. The bow crumbled upon impact, but he paid it no mind, allowing the boat to revert back to the piece of driftwood it had previously been.

Lyngvi was basically a floating mass of trees; it was nearly identical to Varinheim save for the fact that it lacked the mainland's overwhelming amount of swamps. Harry was certain he would have spent hours stumbling around it's dark forest, searching for a brother who may not want to be found, fortunately Frigga had given him exact instruction on how to get to him.

Some of the landmarks had been weathered away and destroyed by time, but there was still more than enough left for him to find his way to the clearing in which Fenris had been bound. There wasn't much to it; it was only fifteen meters in diameter with an enormous rock taking up most of the space in the center, the trees all around the edge of the clearing bore impossibly wide and deep gouges. Harry lingered just outside of the clearing, only a meter or so away from the shredded trees.

"Hello?" he called nervously. "Uh…anybody home?"

Silence.

Was he in the wrong place? There was no way Fenris had moved, Frigga had assured him that he wouldn't have been able to break the chain that bound him to the rock, the very same rock he was staring at now. But it _had_ been centuries since anyone had visited the island. Maybe Fenris had found some way to slip his bonds.

He took a step to the left intending to encircle the clearing at a safe distance and get a look at it from all angles when something caught his eye. At the base of a rock was a silken rope, no wider than two of his fingers, it was dirtied and brown but still bore a distinctive shine to it.

Harry took a step closer, squinting his eyes to see better through the mist. The bit of rope gave the tiniest of twitches, the only warning Harry had before a blur of matted fur and jagged teeth leapt over the boulder and crossed the clearing in two huge strides. The coil of rope pulled taut just as the wolf reached the first ring of trees, his powerful legs were crouched low so that his maw was only inches from his face, his lips pulled back revealing enormous incisors dripping with saliva.

"Er…hello."

The enormous wolf released a growl that seemed to rumble the earth beneath Harry's feet.

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and say you're Fenris. It's a pleasure."

A warm puff of air pushed his hair away from his face and sent a globule of drool flying only centimeters past his cheek.

"I'm Haraldr, Harry for short, we're sort of, um…brothers."

Fenris didn't so much as twitch at the confession.

"We share the same father, Loki. I know it's be a few years-er _centuries_ but you remember him right?"

Harry was beginning to wish he'd come into this with more of a plan; his fairly painless first encounters with Hela and Sleipnir had left him with the misguided belief that things would go just as smoothly. He hadn't considered that Fenris' forced isolation would have made him infinitely more hostile and reluctant to trust strangers. He'd been able to convince Sleipnir that Loki hadn't abandoned him, that his mother had had just as much say in their separation as he had, with very little effort, but Sleipnir had grown up fairly pampered, Hela had her own _realm_ for Merlin's sake; Fenris was bound to a rock in the middle of an isolated island far away from any form of civilization. He was bound to be far more resentful than any of his other siblings.

"I'm sorry," Harry sighed. "I didn't really think this through all that much, I was just really eager to meet you. Dad told me about you and the others years ago, and I've wanted to meet you ever since. I'll admit, I could have planned our first encounter a bit better." He rubbed sheepishly at his neck, jostling the braided chord around his neck.

Fenris' gaze finally left Harry's face and flickered down to his chest, where his shirt was peaked from a slight protrusion.

Harry immediately tugged the necklace over his head and held it out for Fenris to see, this was the first time he'd removed the necklace, made of hair taken from Sleipnir's mane and a fang Fenris had lost when he was just a puppy, since Loki had gifted it to him on his seventeenth birthday.

"This was a gift from our father," he explained. "Apparently it was the first tooth you'd lost as a pup. He held onto it even after you were taken away, kept it hidden and safe for _centuries_."

Something flickered in Fenris' eyes, he let out a deep snort, almost mocking, then took one step back, then another, and then he began folding into himself, shrinking, shedding in a way all too reminiscent of Remus' monthly transformations from wolf to man. In seconds, a man, hulking and muscular and naked as the day he was born, towered above him.

"Oh wow, I forgot that that was a skill you possessed," Harry floundered, uncharacteristically at loss for words. "I I just assumed you would be like Sleipnir who's a horse all the time, but-"

Fenris made a sharp noise, somewhere between a snort and a growl that shut Harry up immediately. He had never been so out of his depth.

"Haraldr," the only-sometimes-wolf said. "Son of Loki." He spoke slowly, clearly unused to speaking or perhaps even using his human vocal chords at all. His voice was the same deep rumble as his growl. "How many centuries has it been?"

"I-I don't know actually. I've not been around for very long."

"How many centuries are you?"

"Seventeen, but years not centuries."

Fenris looked surprised. "You are just a babe."

"Not a babe, Midgardian. Mortal as far as I can tell."

Fenris grunted and moved away, Harry caught a glimpse of the thin chain wrapped around his left ankle. "What is your purpose here, Midgardian boy?"

Harry bristled at the moniker, Fenris knew his name, he had _just _said it. "I just wanted to meet you."

The wolf man barked what could be considered a bitter laugh. "No one has wanted to meet me in many years. _Centuries _you say."

Harry's anger was effortlessly snuffed out by the curiosity the statement elicited. "You don't know how long you've been here?"

"I can not keep track of the days," Fenris shrugged. "There are not enough stones in this forest or stars in the sky to count how long I've been here."

"How are you still sane? How are you able to interact with me?" Harry winced, realizing how rude his questions sounded the moment he spoke them, but Fenris either didn't seem to notice or, at the very least, he didn't care.

"I sleep for years at a time. It has been long, but not _so_ long." Fenris leaned against the enormous boulder in the center of the clearing, unabashed by his nudity. "How did you get here? Why you, why now?"

"Things have changed on Asgard."

"Is the Allfather dead?" Fenris looked disturbingly hopeful.

Harry grimaced. "No, Loki…our father is. With him dead the Allfather hasn't been keeping such a close eye on you all. I was able to convince Frigga that she could perhaps begin atoning for all the wrongs she's done you by telling me where you were."

"You've found me. You've met me. Now what?"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't think that far ahead," he admitted.

"You are a fool."

"So I've been told." Harry gestured to the clearing. "May I enter? I could take a look at your chain for you, maybe try my hand at breaking it."

Fenris laughed again, this one far less angry than the first. "You believe you can break the bonds not even I could? You are so tiny."

"Anyone would look tiny when standing beside _you_," Harry frowned.

Fenris didn't respond, only held his bound ankle out in invitation. As Harry drew closer he began to realize that the chain that he had previously believed to have stopped and began at his ankle went much further; it was thinner and barely visible beneath the dirt caking the man-wolf's skin but it wound all the way up his left leg, around his waist and his torso, and down his right arm, before looping several times around his wrist and heading back down to his left ankle.

"Well there goes my plan of just chopping off your foot," he muttered.

Fenris snorted. "You do not think that I wouldn't have gnawed my own leg off by now if that had been all I had to do?"

"Some people are queasy about that sort of thing."

"After one has been bound as long as I have, there is very little they wouldn't do to be free."

Harry hummed in agreement and crouched down so that he could see where the chain first met the rock; it only took him a handful of minutes to realize that he wouldn't be able to break the rock rather than the chain itself, whatever stone the boulder was made from was harder than anything he had ever seen. He sent some of his most powerful spells at the rock and it didn't so much as chip.

"You are a sorcerer," Fenris observed with interest. "Like our father." He said the word _father_ with open disdain, but at least it wasn't the full-blown hatred Harry had initially feared.

"He taught me much of what I know," Harry said, before focusing once again on Fenris. "These chains, they seem pretty snug on you now, but what happens when you shift into your wolf form?"

"They stretch,"

Harry hummed thoughtfully. "I wonder if it shrinks as well." He studied the chain with narrowed eyes, carefully feeling out every enchantment weaved around it. There weren't as many as were around Sleipnir's stable, but they were just as strong and just as old; Harry was fairly familiar with the feel of Asgardian magic what with being around his father so much, and so was able to feel out what seemed to be the Asgardian equivalent of a stretching charm, but there was no trace of anything that would allow the chain to shrink.

"I've got it," he grinned, drawing his wand. "I think I've got an idea on how to get you out."

Fenris' eyes narrowed. "How?"

"The chain is designed to stretch not shrink," Harry said, believing that to be explanation enough. "Now, I've never tried this on a person before, but, in theory, it works almost every time."

Before Fenris could ask anymore question, he pointed his wand at him and incanted "Diminuendo." Immediately, the man-wolf began shrinking until he stood nearly half Harry's height. Harry let out a sound suspiciously like a squeak when the chain didn't shrink, but remained draped loosely over Fenris' shrunken form.

"It actually worked!" he exclaimed. "Quick, step out of the chains and I'll reverse the spell."

Fenris said nothing as he stepped free from the chains and allowed Harry to return him to his normal size. He spent an incredible amount of time taking in what his arms and legs and torso looked like when devoid of his shackles, he was seemingly stunned by how bare they looked without them.

"I did not think you would be able to do it, little Midgardian boy," he murmured. Suddenly, with a sharp crack and an unexpected curve from his spine, Fenris slipped into the skin of his wolf and bounded across the clearing. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second at its edge before racing off into the forest with a joyful howl.

As the sound reverberated through the trees and tore through the seemingly endless mist, a smile, wider than any he'd felt in a long time, worked its way across Harry's face. He hadn't thought it possible, but Blaise's promise to him from a few days finally proved itselfto be true. He _was_ capable of being happy again, things were _finally_ getting better.

* * *

He let himself slip free from his brother's desperate grasp and dove into the abyss. Prepared to succumb to the darkness and join Harry in his daughter's realm.

Only, he didn't.

He didn't die. Why didn't he die? Why was it that he couldn't even end his life properly?

He fell.

He fell.

He fell.

And then he didn't. He wasn't. And suddenly the pain in his heart, in his soul became so much real, spread throughout his entire body as they tore into his mind.

Blue. Why was everything so blue?

_Thor smiled at him, a beaming grin so full of teeth and…love. He had loved him, hadn't he? He'd fought beside him. Won beside him. Cherished the moments he spent beside him in his own snarky way._

_**Wrong**_**. **Pain. _**Wrong.**_Pain. _Blue_.

Thor was evil. Thor was cruel. He'd used him, scorned his weakness and his pathetic tricks when he wasn't looking and sometimes even when he was. Thor was not his brother. Thor did not love him. He did not love Thor. Thor was the enemy.

_Frigga brushed soft hands through his hair, whispering words of praise and encouragement as he focused his magic, focused his mind. _

_ So clever_, she said, _so powerful. My beautiful boy._

_**Wrong**_. Pain. _**Wrong**_. Pain. _Blue._

He was not clever. He was not powerful. He was not her beautiful boy. She had lied, she had deceived. He was a monster. Never hers.

_Odin yelled. He did a lot of that when it came to him. But, even as he did, his eyes sparkled with hidden humor, maybe a touch of his own mischief. He yelled, but it was for show. He had found the prank amusing. He would not be punished._

_**Wrong**_. Pain. _**Wrong**_. Pain. _Blue._

He would be punished. He would always be punished. Odin hated him. Despised him. He kept him around only because he was convenient. He had been the one to perpetuate the lie. He had been the one to take away his children. He had been the one who had scorned his gifts. Called him weak. He was weak.

_Harry laughed. Harry took his hand and smiled._

_ I love you, Dad. _

_ Harry. The best thing he'd ever done._

_**Wrong**_. Pain. _**Wrong**_. Pain. _Blue._

He had failed Harry. He had left Harry. Abandoned Harry. Harry was dead. Harry had died hating him.

_No!_

_**Wrong**_. Pain. _**Wrong**_. Pain. _Blue._

Harry was dead. He had failed.

_**Wrong**_. Pain. _**Wrong**_. Pain. _Blue._

He had failed.

_**Wrong**_. Pain. _**Wrong**_. Pain. _Blue._

_I love you, Dad._

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

* * *

**A/N: And that's a wrap! I tried to make this chapter as happy as possible since it's a bit of a filler, but this is a very angsty period in Harry's life so there's only so much I can spare you. As you can see from the last scene, we've just about reached the Avengers storyline, if everything goes to plan, we should be seeing that next chapter.**

**Let me know what you think of this chapter, and come visit me on Facebook or Tumblr for updates on the next chapter's progress or just to hear me cry over the upcoming Civil War.**


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

It took hours for Fenris to tire himself out. Hours of uprooting trees, terrorizing the wildlife, and howling at what little sky peeked through the thick canopy before he finally trotted back into the clearing, carrying a vaguely equestrian animal in his jaws. He dropped the animal on the ground beside Harry, then donned the skin of his human form.

"Eat," the wolf-man growled. "You are too tiny to be kin of mine."

"I've already said I'm not tiny, you're just freakishly large," Harry shot back, curiously poking at the animal. "What is this?"

"Meat, it will put more on your bones." Fenris nudged his catch closer to Harry with his foot. "Eat."

"No, I meant, as in _species, _what species of animal is this? I mean, it looks a bit like a deer, but, last time I checked, deer were herbivores and did not need incisors the size of my ring finger. And those hooves, have you…."

Fenris leveled Harry with an unimpressed look, then tore the back leg off of the not-deer and thrust it at him. "_Eat._"

"Well, since you asked so nicely," the teen muttered sarcastically and received a faceful of the bloody flank in punishment. "All right, I'll eat. But at least let me cook the damn thing."

He hurried away from Fenris' aggressive mother henning and toward the edge of the clearing where he collected a few armfuls of shredded wood from the base of the trees. He used that as kindling for a magically induced fire while a branch, whittled to a smooth point by his dagger, acted as a spit to roast a portion of the back leg over the fire.

Fenris' nose wrinkled in disgust as the meat slowly darkened and crisped until it was cooked all the way through.

"Don't make that face," Harry said as he removed his spit from the fire. "I'm not part-canine, I'll end up getting worms or the like from uncooked meat."

"More protein."

"More like more cramps, nausea, and maybe even a bit of colic." Harry scoffed before taking a tentative bite from the charred animal; he allowed himself a few moments to process the taste before admitting to himself that it wasn't all that bad, a bit stringy perhaps, but it had a nice spice to it. "How did you hunt when you were chained to that rock?" he asked between bites, finding the silence and the way Fenris simply sat and watched with his dark eyes a bit unnerving. "It didn't allow you to go any further than this clearing, right?"

"I did not hunt. In the time I slept, the animals became comfortable with my presence. They lived in the trees around me, when I woke I was able to lure them close enough to catch and eat."

Harry frowned. "It can't have taken them long to realize being so close to you was a danger. What did you do when they moved on?"

"I slept again."

"For years? Decades?"

Fenris tossed his head as if thrown off by the question. "Long enough for them to forget the danger and return."

Harry set aside his meal, suddenly unable to stomach another bite. "You're coming back with me tonight, yeah?"

"To Midgard?"

"Yes, I have a home there, away from this island, you'll no longer be held prisoner by those meant to be family."

Fenris' eyes narrowed in what Harry figured was either hope or distrust. "You would free me from this island?"

"Of course," Harry nodded. "But you have to promise me something. You cannot eat Odin and start the Asgardian apocalypse."

Fenris snorted derisively. "I would not eat the Allfather, he is old, too dusty. Besides, eating him would be too merciful a death. If I were to kill him it would be long, and painful."

"Well, let's just hold off on all plans of killing him for the time being. If you can promise me that, we can leave, right now if you want."

Fenris heaved a heavy, put upon sigh through his nose, but nodded his head sharply in agreement. "You have my word."

"I knew I could count on you," Harry grinned. "Now is there anything you'd like to take with you, a rock you're particularly fond of, maybe the skull of some animal you've been talking too to keep you company…No? All right, then I say we blow this popsicle stand."

"What is a popsicle stand?"

A wide grin, bearing just a hint of his usual mischief, lit Harry's face. "Oh, brother, I look forward to introducing you to the wonders of Midgardian dialect."

* * *

Harry felt as if he was comfortable enough with the basic layout of the Asgardian mountains to apparate directly to the cave in which his ride home was waiting; it was a bit trickier bringing Fenris along for the sole fact that he was so _big_ and they were traveling quite some distance, but he managed and only lost half an eyebrow for his troubles.

"This is Midgard?" Fenris asked when the portal deposited them in a silent and obviously closed for the night Stonehenge. "It has not changed much in the time I was imprisoned."

"If I were you, I'd reserve my judgment for a later date," Harry snorted. "You've not seen anything yet." He held out his arm for the wolf-man to take. "One more trip and we're there."

"I do not like your sorcery," Fenris frowned.

"You wouldn't be the first of my family to dislike it," Harry said ruefully. "But I'm sure you'll come around. Now come on, I don't particularly fancy walking all the way home and you're not ready for muggle transportation."

Fenris reluctantly wrapped a large hand around Harry's proffered arm; they apparated with the usual sharp crack and landed on the hidden doorstep of Grimmauld Place.

"Home sweet home," Harry sighed as he tapped his wand against the wooden door, disengaging the various locks. The narrow front hall was darkened, but Harry could see a light shining from the direction of the kitchen and hear the soft murmur of voices. However, the moment the door slammed shut behind him, the voices cut off and were replaced by the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Harry?" Hermione's cautious voice sounded from somewhere down the hall. "Is that you?"

"It's me," he called out as he kicked off his shoes. "What are you doing up? Am I late?"

"Close to it. Come sunup, we were ready to take that portal and storm As-" Hermione cut off mid-sentence when she rounded the corner and spotted the beast of a man hulking less than a meter behind Harry. Ron, Neville, and Blaise weren't far behind her, but they too pulled up short the moment they noticed Fenris.

"Er, Harry," Blaise said. "Who is the tall drink of water and what is he doing in our house?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Harry said cheekily. "I mean, the resemblance is uncanny if I do say so myself. This is by brother, Fenris. Brother, meet my close friends Hermione, Ron, Blaise, and Neville.

"More mortals," Fenris sniffed.

"Well, we _are_ on Midgard. Most of us will be mortal."

"Harry," Hermione cut in, voice just the tiniest but shrill. "I thought you went to Asgard to try and wheedle Fenris' location from your grandmother, not track him down and bring him home."

"No wonder you were almost late," Neville chuckled. "You can never just stick with the plan."

Harry shrugged unrepentantly. "It didn't even take me a quarter of an hour to wheedle it out of her. As a matter of fact, there was an underwhelmingly little amount of wheedling involved. I still had some time before I had to be home so I figured I could give it a shot."

"And by give it a shot, you mean find him, talk to him, and somehow convince him to come home with you." Ron shook his head in amusement. "You plan for him to stay here with us?"

The five teens turned to look at Fenris who looked positively giant and supremely uncomfortable in the narrow hall, he looked ten seconds from quite literally bursting from his skin.

"I'll admit, I didn't think this far ahead," Harry said. "But he definitely can't stay here, it's too small and there isn't a forest large enough for him to run in anywhere close to this place."

"He could live in Longbottom Manor," Neville suggested, "it's been empty for years. It's certainly large enough for him to live comfortably and it's got a few dozen acres of forest for him to run and hunt in."

"Does that sound all right to you?" Harry asked Fenris. "It'll be a bit more isolated, but you'll have the whole forest to do with as you please."

"So long as I do not ever have to return to that island again, I will make do."

"Brilliant. We could leave tomorrow afternoon, give Nev some time to work us into the wards if need be."

"Sometime in the afternoon?" Ron asked.

"Let's try for around three," Blaise suggested. "It'll take me a few hours to round all of my belongings up."

"Wait," Harry frowned. "What? No. I didn't mean _all _of us had to move."

Hermione rolled her eyes and exchanged amused glances with the others. "You don't really think we're staying here while the two of you move to Longbottom Manor?" she said. "When Fenris is off hunting you'll need someone to keep you company."

"Besides, we've got pretty much all we could from the Black family library," Neville added. "If you plan on finding Jormungandr anytime soon we'll need some fresh content to look through."

"I'd feel bad uprooting you all because of a rash decision on my part," Harry protested.

"Please," Ron scoffed. "We're moving from a dark old townhouse to an airy, countryside manor, it's no hardship."

"Well, when you put it like that…" Harry conceded.

"That was easier than we'd expected," Hermione said, beaming in satisfaction.

A suspicious frown tugged at Harry's lips. "It was," he agreed. "I expected a bit more anger from you especially when I showed up with Fenris. You tend to get a little bent out of shape when I deviate from a set plan or put myself in danger without your consent."

"And for good reason. But, honestly Harry, I can't say I'm all that surprised you went off by yourself to find Fenris. I'm sorry to say, you're becoming more and more predictable as you grow older."

"Well, that just won't do," Harry exclaimed. "How else will I keep you lot on your toes? A bit of unpredictability goes a long way in keeping life…interesting."

"Bullshit!" Ron proclaimed. "Unpredictability only ever leads to one thing when it comes to us. Trouble. And I've had more than enough trouble in this lifetime, thanks. I'll be happy if I never have to see another lick of action the rest of my life. A bit of peace and quiet is all I ask for."

Harry smiled and shot the redhead a pitying look. "If it was peace and quiet you desired, you never should have joined me in that train car."

* * *

Loki was gone. Loki was dead. In his place stood a creature of pain and blue and hatred. So much hatred. He was overflowing with it, it leaked from every crack, every crevice, it made room for nothing else. It was all he was and all he was ever going to be.

_The Tesseract has awakened. It is on a little world. A human world. They would wield its power, but our ally knows its workings as they never will._

Was that what he was? An ally? But that inferred they were working together. That they were equals. Was he even alive? He didn't know, couldn't tell. There was too much pain, too much blue.

_He is ready to lead. And our force, our Chitauri, will follow._

He would not lead, they would never allow him to lead. The Chitauri would lead and he would follow.

_The world will be his. The universe yours. And the humans, what can they do but burn?_

_He_ was burning. _Always burning. _He couldn't see past it most days, couldn't think around it. Those days were bad, but the days were he _could_, where he could think and almost remember were among the worst. It was then that he wondered: who was he? _Who am I?_ He would always receive a response. But it was wrong. Always wrong.

**You are Loki of Asgard, and you have been gifted with glorious purpose.**

This was no gift.

The pain that never faded, and the blue that never left became sharper, brighter, more intense.

_Who am I?_

**You are Loki of Asgard, and you have been gifted with glorious purpose.**

_I am…_

_I am…_

_I__** am**__..._

_I am Loki of Asgard, and I am __**burdened**__ with glorious purpose._

* * *

It didn't come as a surprise to anyone when, the moment they arrived at Longbottom Manor, Fenris took off into the woods, sparing only a second to grant Harry alone a gruff farewell. It had been days since any of them had seen him, if it hadn't been for the fresh animal carcasses that bore an unspoken but no less pointed message left at the main entrance every day or so, Harry would have feared that Fenris had run off to be alone again.

He'd been the slightest bit embarrassed by what he believed to be an unfounded fear, but Hermione assured him that it was normal considering how he'd lost several important people to him in a very short amount of time. It was only logical he would fear anyone else leaving him. Then, in true Hermione fashion, she steered him toward the library to 'distract him from his woes.'

The Longbottom library was several times larger than Grimmauld Place's, not to mention noticeably more organized, but, instead of providing Harry with the resources he'd need to find his fourth sibling, it only meant more books he'd have to pick through to find even the tiniest of clues. Blaise, Neville, Hermione, and Ron were always willing to lend a helping hand in searching the shelves for accounts of strange magical creature sighting or flipping through books in search of clues to Jormugandr's location, but they weren't as invested in the search as he was, something he didn't fault them for as he often felt guilty if they spent several hours out of their day in the library with him. It was all right if he spent his entire day among the dusty tombs, but they still had lives and families to attend to, the last thing he wanted to do was keep them from them.

His friend's often argued much the same thing in regards to him, trying to track down the last of his family was a worthy endeavor, but he shouldn't spend his every waking moment doing it. They had yet to succeed in actually persuading him to heed their words, but it was a work in progress. The only time they were ever really able to drag him from the library was for Weasley family dinner's, they were held every Sunday evening and had expanded to all of the Weasley children both by blood and marriage, Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Blaise, and at least half of the surviving Order. Attendance was not optional.

Harry put up a token protest when the time came around to leave for the Burrow, but all it took was a delighted greeting from Mr. Weasley and a warm hug from the Weasley matriarch to bring him around.

"I swear, I saw you just last week, but you seem to be thinner already," Mrs. Weasley tutted, looking over the way Harry's clothing hung just the slightest bit loose on his frame. "I expect to see you taking third and fourth helpings tonight, and I'll see what I can do about boxing up a few leftovers for you."

"Believe it or not, but we actually are capable of finding ways to feed ourselves, Mum," Ron protested, pressing a kiss to his mother's cheek. "Kreacher takes care of us just fine."

That was the wrong thing to say and he knew it, Mrs. Weasley immediately launched into an impassioned rant about how a house elf wasn't able to put the same amount of care behind their cooking as a mother was. Ron shot Harry a wink when the dark haired teen used the woman's distraction to slip away.

"You owe me one," he mouthed, to which Harry nodded vehemently.

"What's Mum ranting about now?" Charlie asked when Harry gratefully slipped into the living room.

"House elves and cooking."

That was all the assembled guests needed to wince and turn away, they'd all been subjected to at least one of her rants pertaining to the inadequacy of house elves when it came to cooking comfort foods and none of them were all too eager to hear another. Fortunately, she tired herself out pretty quickly and, before long, they were all filing out to the back yard where several tables were lined up lengthwise to accommodate the amount of people present.

Food was dished up and conversation were had, but it didn't take long for talk to turn to what Harry, Neville, Ron, Blaise, and Hermione had been up to. A topic that all but Harry were more than happy to discuss for the sole reason that they got to complain about Harry and his reclusive habits.

"He spends all day in the library, Mrs. Weasley," Blaise tattled unrepentantly. "It's why he's so thin, it's all we can do to get him to eat."

"What is it you're doing in the library all day? Nothing's more important than your health, dear," Mrs. Weasley frowned, gearing up for a lecture. There was only one way to prevent the imminent telling off.

"I've been searching for what's left of my family," he said, accenting his voice with just a touch of wistful sadness. "I don't know if you're familiar with Asgardian mythos, but my father had four children before me, but because of their parentage and the forms in which they took, they were exiled from Asgard. My sister, Hela, has her own domain in the underworld where she watches over a portion of the dead; she was the first one I met, during the Final Battle when I was hit with the Killing Curse. I met Sleipnir next, on Asgard, he was there when I learned my father died." There was a sympathetic rumble along the table. "Fenris is the brother I've met most recently, he was being held on an island on Asgard." Harry turned to Remus with a bright grin on his face. "I should introduce the two of you one day, he's part wolf, but he has full control over his ability to shift between man and wolf. Perhaps he could give you some tips on becoming more connected with Moony."

Remus smiled in bemusement. "I would love to meet him. Though I suppose it might be a bit difficult to arrange a meeting what with him what with him being held on an island on Asgard."

"Well, I did say _was_. I brought him home with me, back here to Midgard. He was the main reason we moved to Longbottom Manor, so he would have space to move and run and hunt. Jormungandr is the only sibling of mine I haven't found, which is frustrating because he's a monstrous sized serpent supposedly hiding here on Midgard."

"A monstrous sized serpent here on Midgard?" Bill asked interestedly. "Where would he hide? In the oceans, perhaps?"

Harry nodded. "That's the only plausible reason no one's seen him. He would have no problem remaining hidden in the ocean. I've been looking into sightings of strange creatures that may be him, but the only places I have to look are the libraries in Grimmauld Place and Longbottom Manor, and there's only so much books written several decades ago can do for us."

"I'll do some poking around next time I head in for work," Mr. Weasley promised. "See if the Department of Magical Creatures hasn't had to deal with something like a giant sea serpent."

"I will too," Bill promised, a thoughtful look on his handsome face. "Being a cursebreaker you go to some weird places and see some crazy stuff. I'll talk to some of my colleagues tomorrow."

"That'd be brilliant," Harry said gratefully. "I'd really appreciate it."

"Does this mean now you'll stop skipping out on meals to peruse those dusty old books?"

Mrs. Weasley turned to Harry, suddenly reminded that she had yet to reprimand him for not taking better care of himself. As she launched into a stern lecture on the importance of eating three full meals a day with snacks in between, Harry didn't even bother hiding the poisonous glare he sent Blaise's way, nor the careful drag of his thumb over his throat.

"I will end you," he mouthed.

His fellow Slytherin only shrugged and silently laughed at Harry's plight. Smug bastard.

* * *

Both Mr. Weasley and Bill kept their promises and spoke with their colleagues on behalf of Harry the very next day. Mr. Weasley didn't have much luck finding anything thanks to the Ministry's general incompetence, but Bill, it seemed, had much better luck. Ron's eldest brother paid them a visit that evening with a book on famous cursebreakers and what he believed to be their first clue.

"I didn't have to look very far to find this," he told Harry as he handed him the thick tome. "The moment you mentioned giant serpent, I already had something in mind; the conclusion that he had to be hiding in the ocean was only confirmation." He reached over and flipped the book open to the biography of a man named Marek Goshawk.

"Goshawk?" Ron asked, looking over Harry's shoulder. "Isn't that the name of the lady who wrote our Charm books? Melinda Goshawk?"

"_Miranda_," Bill corrected. "And yes it is, he is her many times great uncle. Marek was a brilliant cursebreaker, by the time he was in his thirties, he'd visited every corner of the planet, seen some of the greatest archaeological sites to be witnessed by man. One of the last jobs he worked was in the Atlantic Ocean, not far from the coast of the United States; he'd been sent there to look into a frequent shipwreck site. The US government suspected that one of the first ships to have gone down in the area bore curses that sunk any ship that passed within five kilometers of it, they needed a skilled cursebreaker to eradicate them before muggles really began taking notice. The last thing they wanted was another Bermuda Triangle disaster.

"Marek was the cursebreaker they assigned to the job. However, he claimed that while he was out there, he spotted what he believed to be a mass of land that hadn't been notated anywhere on his map. Only when he drew closer did he realize that the island was moving, slowly sinking until it had been fully submerged; its silhouette was still visible beneath the water, however, and he could see that it was headed directly toward him. As it drew closer, he was able to make out a head that looked distinctly snake like, and a long body devoid of any fins or other such limbs."

"A giant sea serpent," Neville said.

Bill nodded. "Exactly. Marek tried to inform the Magical Congress of the United States of what he'd seen, but they didn't believe him. No such creature existed in either the wizarding or the muggle world. They told him it was likely just a kelpie who'd wandered over from Ireland and had taken on the form of a sea serpent to scare him off.

"Of course, Marek wasn't so easily dissuaded, he wanted to go back out to the site and search for the creature. Unfortunately, before he got the chance he contracted dragon pox and died."

Harry, who had been following Bill's narration nearly word for word in the book, looked up with wide eyes. "That sounds as if it could be something," he said. "Right? That could that have been Jormungandr?"

"Well, basilisks don't like to swim, as far as I can tell," Blaise said. "And there are no other creatures that sound remotely like he described."

"What if it really was a kelpie like the MACUSA believed?" Hermione asked.

"Ireland is a long way to travel for one kelpie," Neville said. "And if it had really taken on the form of a monstrous sea snake to scare Marek off I imagine it would have done _something_ to actually scare him, not sink beneath the water and swim away."

"I say it's worth checking out," Harry said. "It's pretty solid as far as first clues go."

"Where was this shipwreck Marek was supposed to be heading out to?" Ron asked. "We're going to need to know where it is we're going."

"That's the thing, the book doesn't mention the location of where he'd been sent to for the job," Bill explained. "I suppose the author didn't think it was pertinent information, or perhaps they didn't want anyone who read it to go gallivanting off to some cursed shipwreck site in search of a creature that may or may not exist. I had Dad check the Ministry's archives for anything but there was nothing on Marek or his assignment; he said the MACUSA would be the most likely place you'd find anything pertaining to the two."

"Could they mail it to us if we requested it?" Harry asked.

"I'm sure they would," Bill nodded. "But it would likely take weeks for them to process the request, send someone down there to find what you need, and receive the proper permission needed to make copies of the documents and owl them back to you. I imagine you don't want to wait that long."

"Not at all," Hermione said. "Harry's a pain when he's impatient."

"I am not," the teen in question scowled, but he remained largely ignored.

"I figured as much, Dad's in the process of procuring an international portkey for you, it should be ready by the day after tomorrow at the latest."

"Bill Weasley, you are a dream," Harry beamed. "Thank you so much."

"It wasn't anything I wasn't happy to do for you. Hopefully next time you'll remember you don't have to do all the heavy lifting yourself." He shot Harry an affection smile. "Now, I'll leave you all to talk amongst yourselves, figure out the fine details."

Bill left through the fireplace and Harry, Ron, Blaise, Hermione, and Neville settled on the floor around the coffee table to discuss their next move.

"I don't think all of us need to go," Harry said, "it'll just be a quick visit, in and out, the more people we bring, the longer it'll take."

"How many should go then?" Hermione asked. "Two? Three?"

"Two should be more than enough," Neville suggested. "Harry, of course, and who else?"

"I'm fine with staying here, holding down the fort until you get back," Ron said. "Long distance portkey trips make me sick."

"I've made plans to have breakfast with my parents the day after tomorrow," Hermione said. "But if you need me to, I could reschedule, I'm sure they wouldn't mind."

"No, it's all right," Harry protested. "I'll admit you're the best when it comes to this sort of stuff, but we'll find some way to make due." He turned expectantly to Neville and Blaise, both of whom shrugged.

"I don't mind taking a portkey across the ocean," Neville said.

"And I've got nothing planned the day after tomorrow."

"Flip a galleon for it," Ron suggested, as he retrieved the coin from his pocket. Once Blaise and Neville chose their sides, he flipped it in the air and slapped it onto the back of his wrist. "And the heads have it. Your win, Nev."

"Do try and keep our Harry in line while you're over there," Hermione said. "I would hate to have to cut breakfast short with my parents because you've gone and broken the US."

"I'll do my best," Neville said solemnly, "but I can't promise the Magical Congress will still be standing by the time our portkey is scheduled to leave. Can you imagine the sort of trouble Harry could get up to in New York?"

* * *

Loki surveyed his surroundings with a silent sort of glee. A single tremor rocked his frame, but he quickly forced himself to be still before anyone noticed and took it for the sign of weakness it could be interpreted as. All the while he continued to speak, crooning sweetly to terrified mortals kneeling in the dirt around him.

_You were made to be ruled. In the end, you will always kneel._

He was interrupted by a man, elderly, the survivor of a great war if the lines marring his face and the shadows darkening his eyes were anything to go by. Then the red white and blue nuisance arrived and his plan was once again in motion.

There was a man in red and gold then a plane and delight as he realized that everything was going to plan. But then there was thunder and hatred and Thor. Useless, horrible, so foolish it was cruel Thor was there, begging him to abandon his fight, to give up his glorious purpose. There was anger and pain and blue, so much blue.

He claimed they'd mourned him, Odin (_thiefmonster__**traitor**_)and Frigga (_liarimposter__**traitor**_). But he saw them for the lies that they were, they were honeyed words, meant to lure them back to their side. He would not be so easily fooled.

_You give up the Tesseract. You give up this poisonous dream. You come home._

Home? Loki had no home. His only home had died on Jotunheim. Terrified and alone because of his weakness, his ineptitude. But never again. His days of being weak, of cowering in the shadow of his traitorous brothers were over.

* * *

Harry found himself in agreement with Ron that making a jump from London, England all the way to Manhattan, New York was just the slightest bit vomit inducing. When the portkey deposited them on the magical side of the Woolworth Building, the headquarters of the Magical Congress, it was all Harry could do to keep his lunch from making a reappearance all over the polished floor.

Neville laughed at his discomfort and gave him a firm pat on the back before going in search of someone who could lead them to the public archives. One of the sharply dressed women pointed them in the direction of the closest lift with clear instruction on which floor to stop at and which room the archives were located in.

Of course, they still wound up wandering lost for a good half hour, the building was enormous and there weren't any convenient maps mounted on every other wall, but a bit of good luck and some kind strangers eventually led them to finding the archives.

Unfortunately, the task they'd assumed would take maybe an hour, no more than two wound up taking much, _much _longer. The Goshawks had a ridiculous amount of records considering they mostly resided in Europe, and looking through the records on cursebreakers was all but pointless due to the sheer amount of documents that file possessed.

"How did I lead myself to believe this would be easy?" Harry muttered as he reached for yet another folder on the Goshawk family. "If we don't find what we need and get topside soon we'll miss our portkey and get Hermione worrying."

Neville hummed in agreement. "And that's the last thing we need, you've been giving her plenty of reason to worry as of late."

Harry's brow furrowed. "Have I?"

Neville nodded. "You've alwaysbeen reckless, it's something we've all learned to deal with" he said, "but I think you've got her worried that, after Draco and Luna and Loki, you don't care _at all_ anymore, about yourself I mean. Jumping into potentially dangerous situations without any sort of backup, spending your entire day sequestered in the library without eating or sleeping or going out for a bit of fresh air and sunshine. Have you even thought at all about what you want to do once you've found Jormungandr? Once you no longer have any siblings to hunt down?"

"Of course I have," Harry said. "Sometimes that's _all _I can think about. But…I just don't know. I can either work somewhere in the magical world, which doesn't sound the slightest bit appealing, or find a profession in the muggle world, but I've not spent an extensive amount of time there in almost a decade. I don't know where I fit and it's…frustrating."

"You're trying to live in too many worlds at once," Neville mused. "There's a reason you don't see muggleborns taking up muggle professions after graduating; it's nearly impossible to live in both worlds at the same time. You yourself saw how difficult it was for Loki to balance his life with you with his life back on Asgard. It's either the muggle word, the wizarding world, or Asgard, you can't have all three, or even two. There can only be one."

"But that's the problem, I don't know which one I want."

"You'll figure it out, just give it some time. But until you do, you'll never really feel settled."

"What if I choose an option you all don't like?" Harry queried.

"We'll be fine with whatever you choose so long as you're happy."

Harry laughed softly. "You know just what to say, don't you?"

"I like to think of it as one of my many superpowers," Neville shrugged.

"One of your better ones." Harry shot him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Nev."

"It's what I'm here for. That and finding anything on Goshawk's final assignment, but I seem to be failing miserably at that last one."

"To be fair, so am I, and I'm the one who suggested this task."

"Lunch break?" Neville suggested.

"By the time we find the mess hall in this place, it'll be time for dinner."

"Even better. I say we pack up for the time being and go in search for something to eat. If we hurry, we'll have a few more hours to look before it's time to leave."

Harry only hesitated for a moment before nodding his assent. "I could eat."

"Good answer," Neville smiled as he began placing the documents and files they'd pulled from the shelves back in their proper places. Harry reluctantly moved to help, the faster they were done eating, the faster they could get back to looking.

They were down to the very last of the pile when a tremor shook the entire building, undoing all of their hard work.

"What the hell was that?" Harry asked, rubbing at where a thick parcel had collided with the top of his head.

Whatever response Neville had formulated was lost in the sudden wailing of an alarm, the ear splitting noise was horribly reminiscent to a caterwauling charm and caused Harry's already aching head to begin throbbing in earnest.

He and Neville immediately abandoned the trashed archive room and headed toward the nearest lift. The ride up was disconcertingly unstable and deposited them in an atrium completely unlike the one they had passed through only a few hours previous. The hall was crowded with witches and wizards pushing and shoving each other aside to reach the floo networks. Their desperation reminded Harry all too much of rats abandoning a sinking ship.

"Hey," he grabbed the arm of an ashen faced Congress worker, stopping the man in his tracks. "What's got everyone in a panic?"

"The city is under attack," the man explained, gaze darting around the hall nervously. "Some creatures on flying vehicles," the man explained. "People are saying they're…_aliens_."

"_Aliens?" _Neville repeated incredulously. "Where did they come from? What do they want?"

"Who knows? And who cares? They're putting the building on lockdown, if I were you, I'd get out of here before they do." The man shrugged himself free from Harry's grip and hurried toward the nearest fireplace.

"Our portkey isn't leaving for another three hours," Neville said, checking his watch. "Let's see if we can't floo out of here before they lock down on all travel."

"Look at the crowds around those fireplaces," Harry pointed out. "We won't be going anywhere through there,"

"Maybe we should just hang tight until this blows over then."

"Nev, _aliens are attacking the city_. There is no hang tight until this blows over. From the way the building was shaking earlier, I think it's safe to say they're doing some pretty serious damage out there."

"And with our luck, the building will come down on our heads," Neville groaned. "Why do I go places with you? You're like a bad luck charm, trouble _stalks _you."

"Why are you blaming me?" Harry exclaimed. "I played no part in these aliens' decisions to invade earth. Blame their leader or whatever."

Just then, another tremor shook the building and it let out a worrying groan.

"All right, all right, we need a plan."

"We could go out there."

"_Harry_," Neville sighed in exasperation.

"No, hear me out," Harry protested. "Right now we've only got three options; try for the fireplaces to no success, hunker down in the lower levels and wait to be crushed beneath sixty stories of metal, _or_ we can try our luck at finding a building slightly less compromised, a little lower to the ground and out of the direct line of fire to wait for our portkey to activate and get us out of here."

"We don't know what's out there. What if these lizard creatures are the size of small houses and crush us beneath their scaly feet the moment we step outside?"

"The man said they were riding flying vehicles, there will be no crushing beneath scaly feet," Harry reasoned, rolling his eyes at his friend.

Neville pinned him with a withering glare he _had _to have learned from Hermione. "Regardless of whether or not we'll be being crushed, we're still stepping out into a situation that is all sorts of fucked up."

"Haven't we been trained to deal with situations that are all sorts of fucked up?" Harry's words were heralded by another tremor, followed by a stream of dust raining down on their heads.

Doors along every wall burst open and stern faced wizards dressed in dark uniforms poured into the hall, heading in the direction of the fireplaces and all exits.

"_This _is why Hermione is so worried about you," Neville huffed, though his words lacked any real heat. "Always leaping headfirst into danger."

That was the only confirmation Harry needed before they both sprinted towards the exit, reaching the revolving doors only seconds before the magical law enforcement did.

Outside was everything and nothing at all like they'd thought it'd be; debris and overturned cars already blocked off the streets, entire chunks had been torn from buildings, fires were raging everywhere, and a frankly terrifying amount of people were on the streets, screaming and crying and generally making nuisances of themselves. And, of course, there were the aliens, there was no other way to describe the creatures, flying overhead on their futuristic war machines.

It only took a handful of seconds to spot where it was they were coming from, an enormous black hole encircled in a swirling, blue energy hung in the middle of the sky. It was from there the aliens were emerging, like a swarm of angry bees from their disturbed hive.

"This is unreal," Neville muttered. "Only with you. _Only_ when I'm with you does shit like this happen."

Harry was too transfixed with his surroundings to snap a reply. The street surrounding the Magical Congress building had sustained some heavy damage, but it was devoid of any alien lifeforms. The lizard creatures were wreaking most of their havoc directly below the enormous hole in the sky several city blocks away, but it was obvious that as more and more poured from the portal, the outlying streets would begin filling with the creatures.

He scanned the street for anywhere he and Neville could hunker down until their portkey activated, but he could find nothing that would provide them suitable protection. High rise buildings completely dominated this part of the city, which was less than ideal as anything that stood more than ten stories tall had a very high chance of collapsing before the night was through, and, knowing Harry's luck, it would wind up being the building he decided to take refuge in.

"There aren't as many options out here as I'd hoped," Harry admitted sheepishly.

"There aren't _any_," Neville cried, exasperated once again, or maybe he'd never stopped being exasperated in the first place, Harry honestly couldn't tell. "Let's go back inside. Maybe they have some contingency plan in place for this sort of thing."

"You think they have a contingency plan in case of an alien invasion?"

"Oh, you know what I mean. And even if they don't, being in there, even with the possibility of being crushed by a collapsing building, is tons better than running into what are more than likely hostile aliens out here."

Harry frowned in disapproval, but had to concede that his plan had failed spectacularly, it was time to give Neville's idea a chance. "Come on then," he sighed.

The two teens stepped into the revolving door meant to lead into the magical side of the Woolworth building and, after giving the proper identification, waited for something to happen. Anything. Nothing did. They turned the door manually, but still nothing happened, when they stepped out of the revolving door it was into what was obviously the muggle side of the building. Several more tries heeded the same result.

"Lock down must be in full affect," Harry noted.

"I blame you for this mess," Neville lamented. "All of this. We're trapped out here with aliens. _Aliens_, Harry."

"Come on, Nev, how bad can these things really be? Of all the planets in this universe they could have invaded, they chose _Earth_, stinky, smelly, already dying Earth. That shows they're obviously not the superior race. I mean, do they even have weapons, or are they just flapping around in the sky and running into things?"

"Incoming!" the terrified scream from one of the civilians still out on the street had Neville and Harry turning just in time to see one of the alien vehicles drift around the corner and come to a screeching stop just above their heads, one of the lizard creatures leapt from the vehicle and onto the street while the other remained hovering a safe distance in the air. There wasn't even a moment's hesitation before the creatures drew what could only be very large guns and began shooting bolts of the same sort of electric blue energy that ringed the portal into the crowd of terrified New Yorkers.

"Well, damn. Neville-"

"Yeah," the teen in question cut in before he could even finish his sentence. "I've got the guy on the ground, you get his friend."

"Don't worry about trying to keep the obvious shows of magic hidden if you can't, I'm sure the MACUSA has a fantastic cleanup crew. It's the least they could do considering they've pretty much abandoned these muggles to the mercy of angry flying lizards."

"There's no need to make their job harder than it's already going to be. I'm sure I can take that one guy down without revealing our world to a bunch of panicked muggles."

Harry grinned. "Best of luck to you then."

As Neville turned and charged toward the alien, easily dodging fleeing civilians and bolts of blue energy as he did, Harry scrambled onto the hood of a wrecked SUV sitting only a meter or so away from the hovering alien aircraft. Its single occupant was too busy firing its weapon into the crowd to notice him until he'd used the slight height advantage to leap onto the back of its vehicle. It turned with an angry, horribly inhuman screech but Harry was already upon it, stabbing his dagger into its skull through the point just behind its chin that wasn't protected by the chrome, helmet like headpiece that covered its head.

He jerked the knife free, ignoring the warm spray of blood that made his grip slippery, then launched himself off of the flying vehicle, rolled off of the hood of the SUV, and ducked around its front just in time to shield himself from the small explosion that resulted from the now pilotless aircraft colliding with the asphalt.

"What was that about them not having weapons?" Neville drawled sarcastically, appearing suddenly at Harry's side. Blue-black blood stained the front of his previously pristine shirt. "I think you said something about them flapping around in the sky and running into things."

"No need to rub it in," Harry muttered as he hauled himself to his feet. He and Neville looked back up at the sky where the aliens continued to fall from the portal.

"They're _still_ coming," Neville frowned. "There has to be hundreds of them by now, thousands even."

"At least we're not the only ones putting up a fight," Harry said, pointing to where, several hundred meters below the portal, a robotic figure painted a garish red and gold was engaging the swarm of aliens with what looked to be miniaturized missiles.

"What is that thing?"

"Hell if I know," Harry shrugged. "But he can't take on all of these guys by himself."

"You think we should give him a hand?"

"I _know_ we should."

"Of course you do," Neville snorted. "And I, being the good friend that I am, can't let you just run into a fight without some sort of backup."

A grin of unadulterated delight spread across Harry's face. "We're going to fight?"

"We're going to fight," Neville affirmed. "Hermione's going to kill us either way, we may as well deserve it."

Harry peeked around the side of the SUV to ensure that the few remaining muggles on the street were suitably distracted in their panic before drawing his wand and conjuring a Patronus. "Find Hermione, Ron, and Blaise" he told it. "Relay the following message: Research got a bit crazy, in need of backup as soon as possible." He turned to Neville with a proud grin on his face. "There I called for backup."

"She's not going to kill you any less because you told her _research got a bit crazy_. If anything, she's going to want to kill you _more_."

"Well, I tried," Harry sighed. "I'll get it right next time."

"Oh trust me, she'll see to it that there won't be a next time. At least not for you. You'll be lucky if you see a next _week_."

"Always with the threats. You know, I almost miss the days where you were too shy to string together a full sentence," Harry said as he picked his way through the wreckage of the crashed spacecraft. The alien had been reduced to a lump of charred flesh but its high tech, energy gun had survived mostly unscathed. He pried it from the creature's blackened fingers and began fiddling with the controls until he was fairly certain that, when the time came, he'd be able to shoot it without killing himself, Neville, or any nearby civilians. "Now, enough talking, let's go kill us some aliens."

* * *

Alien slaughtering didn't come right away, rather there was a lot of running (the portal looked _a lot _closer than it actually was) interspersed with saving muggles from burning vehicles and from beneath piles of rubble. As they drew closer to the epicenter of the attack, Harry and Neville realized that it wasn't only the two of them and a strange, flying robot fighting the army of aliens, there was a whole team of these guys. So far they'd spotted a woman in a skintight black suit that took an alien down using a nifty move involving her thighs around its neck, a man shooting a bow and arrow with amazing accuracy, and another man sporting an outfit made of the American flag and a lot of spandex.

"Let's stick to the outer perimeter," Harry instructed. "We don't know them and they don't know us, so it's best to just stay out of each other's way the best we can. They seem to have this part of the city locked down, so let's focus on the side streets, help muggles get out of the immediate range of fire and try to keep the aliens from making it too far out into the city."

"This would be a lot easier with more of us," Neville noted as they sprinted down the street to where three of the alien creatures were approaching an overturned bus full of muggles.

"I called for backup. You saw me call for backup," Harry said as he shot a spell that sent one of the aliens flipping over the side of the bus and onto the pavement with a meaty thud. "It just might take some time for them to get here is all."

Neville grunted noncommittally as he cleaved the creature closest to the left right in half with a slightly overpowered cutting curse. The third and final alien collapsed into the pavement thanks to a jelly legs curse, and was promptly speared through the chest with what had once been a stop sign.

Once that had been taken care of, Harry and Neville hoisted themselves onto the bus and began work on breaking enough windows to provide the muggles an ample amount of exits. Harry was in the process of helping a woman up through one of the broken windows when something grabbed his ankle and flung him from atop the bus.

"_Arresto Momentum_," he yelped in just enough time to make his impact with the street only faintly agonizing rather than the crippling, bone shattering collision it could have been. He huffed out a slightly pained gasp and rolled over just in time to avoid the blast of blue energy that scorched the pavement his head had just been resting on. It seemed that the first alien's rather intimate encounter with the asphalt hadn't killed it as much as Harry had assumed it had, the creature was up once again and mad as hell.

"You all right, Harry?" Neville called, peering over the edge of the bus, ready to leap to his aid.

"Yeah, I got it," he sighed as he rolled to his feet, narrowly avoiding another blast of energy. "He just took me by surprise."

All too aware of the muggles looking on in morbid fascination, Harry tucked his wand back into its holster and drew his dagger. He had enough wandless spells in his arsenal to defend himself with magic if need be, but he was fairly confident he could take on the lone alien with only his dagger and hand to hand abilities.

Before the creature could shoot another round of energy his way, he launched himself into a powerful lunge, colliding with its torso and sending them both to the ground. The alien's gun flew from its grasp when they fell, sliding across the pavement and several feet outside of its reach. It screeched in wordless fury and bucked Harry from on top of him; from its back it drew a secondary weapon, a staff that had been folded in three. He gave it a sharp flick, snapping it into its full length and igniting a familiar blue light at the end.

Harry ducked the first wide and absurdly powerful swing and circled around the back of the creature, he managed to land a solid kick in the small of its back before it swung around and jabbed at him with the crackling staff. Harry was only a second too slow and received a burning blow to his side as consequence.

"Careful," Neville shouted from his perch on top of the bus.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry muttered. On the next swing of the staff, he snagged the alien's wrist in an unrelenting grip; the partial shift into his Jotun form was almost effortless, the blue swept over his arms almost immediately and begin blackening the creature's skin. His free hand shot up in just enough time to deflect a blow aimed for his head and lock the alien's second arm in his grasp. His face screwed up in concentration as he willed ice to form up and along his arms, freezing the muscle beneath its skin and the joints beneath its muscles until they were two useless, frozen stumps.

Harry tore the staff from its grip and delivered a powerful kick to the middle of its chest. The alien stumbled back a few steps, screeching in pain and anger, it gave itself a swift shake before beginning to advance. However, it didn't make it more than half a meter before a swirling disk of color slammed into his chest, knocking it onto the ground. The disk, a faintly familiar shield painted red and blue with a white star etched in its center, ricocheted back in the direction of its owner, the man dressed in the American flag Harry had spotted earlier. He was running at a fairly impressive speed down the street, heading pointedly in their direction. Harry, however, didn't bother waiting around for him reach them, he hefted the stolen alien staff in his hand before driving it directly between the creature's eyes.

"Took you long enough," Neville muttered. "Thought I'd have to save your sorry arse."

"This beautiful arse never needed saving," Harry shot back.

At that moment, the walking American flag slid to a stop at his side. The man had to have run several hundred meters in under half a minute but he wasn't the slightest bit out of breath. "You all right, son?" he asked worriedly. "I saw him clip your side, but I had to get closer before I could get a clean shot at him."

"The thing tore my shirt but he didn't even break the skin." Harry turned so that the blond man could see where the staff had caught his side, the skin was slightly red but otherwise unharmed. "See? Never better."

"Never better?" the man repeated dubiously. "Even considering the current circumstances?"

Harry looked around nonplussed. "Current circumstances?"

"Yeah…the city is being attacked, by _aliens_."

"Aliens?" Harry exclaimed, then turned to Neville who was helping the last of the muggles out of the bus. "Nev, he said the city's being attacked by aliens!"

"_Aliens_? Is that what those creepy crawlies are?" the brunette responded. "And here I thought they were escapees from the city zoo."

Harry laughed, taking pity on the nonplussed man. "Yeah, mate, we noticed the aliens. They're pouring from a giant hole in the sky. Kind of hard to miss."

"Just checking," the man said, a small smile quirking his lips, though it quickly disappeared when an explosion blew out several floors of a building a few streets over. "I hate to leave you all alone, but you seem fairly capable of watching your own six. Can you get these people off the streets? Into the subways if you can, down into basements if you can't. As long as they're running around up here, the Chitauri will continue to use them as target practice."

"You know what these things are?"

The man nodded. "It's my job."

"I suppose I have one now too," Harry sighed. "All right. Good luck mate." He turned and marched in the direction of the crowd of cowering muggles. "All right, it's time to get off the streets. No, not into the building you idiots," he snapped when some of the muggles tried to make a run for the nearest high rise. "How many of those have you seen these aliens blow up since they got here? We go _down_. Into the subway."

Harry and Neville stuck with the group until they reached the closest subway entrance, only when the muggles were safely underground did they break off to find others in need.

"I've got to say," Harry said as they fought their way past a clump of the aliens, the Chitauri the American man had called them, "I kind of missed this."

"I didn't," Neville grimaced as he wiped Chitauri gore from his face. "Getting blood from underneath my fingernails is a pain."

"Not even a little?"

A Chitauri riding one of their flying death traps tossed a metallic orb no larger than Harry's fist between the two teens; it could be nothing but some sort of alien grenade and yet Neville didn't even hesitate before scooping it up and pitching it right back at the retreating alien. A sticking charm chased the softly pulsing orb and saw that it stuck to the underside of the flying vehicle. The explosion that followed only seconds later and the shriek of a dying alien was _glorious._

"All right," Neville conceded, "maybe a little."

They took off running again, eyes peeled for their next fight, when a shudder, completely unlike the ones caused by the Chitauri blowing one thing or the other up, shook the earth. "I think one of those giant whale things just got axed," Harry mused.

A victorious roar echoed over the building and along the streets.

"Yeah, but by what?" Neville frowned.

At that moment a fresh swarm of Chitauri and several more of the flying whale creatures dove from the portal, they were greeted immediately by an enormous green creature that climbed up the side of a high rise like it was its own person jungle gym and began ripping the alien to shreds.

"I think by that."

Neville shook his head, eyes wide in bafflement. "A flying Gryffindor, a super fit American flag, and an acrobatic, green troll. Who _are_ these people?"

It didn't take long for the fresh wave of Chitauri to reach them, before long the streets were flooded with the creatures.

"Have we ever faced odds like this?" Harry shouted as he cut down alien after alien in quick succession.

"A few times. But in simulations, never in real life, or facing something quite this mad."

"Did we ever win?"

Neville choked out a slightly hysterical laugh. "Nope."

"It's time to change that then, isn't it? I don't plan on dying tonight."

"No…neither do I."

Harry and Neville steadily worked their way through the crowd of Chitauri, ducking into recessed doorways or lobbies of the hopefully abandoned high rises whenever the sheer amount of aliens began to overwhelm them.

"I swear, the others better get here soon," Harry panted during one such break. "We could use a few more people on our side, maybe even the odds a little."

"That won't become a reality until they find some way to close that portal," Neville retorted. "More of those aliens will come through the moment we kill their friends."

"How would one even begin to go about closing it? It's a giant hole in the sky."

"Hell if I know, but they better figure it out fast. My fingers are going numb from holding my wand for so long."

"Out of practice?" Harry teased as he stretched the kinks out of his back, preparing to jump back out into the thick of things.

"You bet your arse I am, and I'd hoped to remain that way. I should have known that wouldn't happen as long as I remain friends with you."

Harry cackled his amusement, then leapt back onto the street, he immediately hit the closest Chitauri with a curse that caused his head to explode and followed it up with a bolt of energy that punched holes through several of their chests. Once Neville cleared the last of the cluster with a beautifully wielded whip of fire, they took off across the street. They slowly worked their way into the center of the battle, clearing street after street of Chitauri until they were less than a block away from the enormous building in which the portal was hovering over.

Harry started in surprise when, upon rounding a corner he spotted the redhead he'd seen choking a Chitauri out with her thighs earlier riding one of the aliens' flying ships; she was being trailed by at least half a dozen more all of which were doing their level best to bring her down. Harry raised his wand, prepared to lend her a helping hand when he spotted a familiar figure among the squadron of Chitauri. No, not just among them, _leading _them. He froze as his mind frantically tried to process what it was he was seeing, tried to come up with an explanation that made more sense than the one he'd immediately decided upon.

"Harry! What the hell are you doing?"

He let out a strangled yell when something grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him backwards, behind an overturned car from the looks of it and out of the immediate line of fire.

"What're you doing standing in the middle of the street like an idiot for?" Neville snapped. "Were you trying to get killed?"

"Neville, wait no," Harry tried to move back out onto the street, but his friend had an iron grip on him. "I have to go back…I saw something. I have to see if it was real."

"What? What did you see?"

"My dad….Neville, I saw my dad out there."

Neville pulled up short, suddenly just as stunned as Harry had been. It was obvious that, of all the responses he'd been expecting, that wasn't even one of them. "Harry…." he said hesitantly.

"I _know_, all right? I know he's dead. But I swear it, I saw him just now."

"I don't get it. How could he be here? _Why_ would he be here? Harry, this isn't the time to…"

"Too what? Go mad?" Harry snapped. "I'm not mad. I know what I saw."

"Okay, so what…he was fighting the Chitauri with the robot man and the American flag?"

Harry hesitated, finally looking unsure. "No," he said. "He wasn't fighting the Chitauri, he was-he was with them. _Leading_ them."

"Your dad was leading the Chitauri? The creatures that have been actively trying to kill us all afternoon?"

"That's what I saw. He was on one of the ships. Chasing someone."

"This doesn't make sense, Harry."

"I know it doesn't. I know it sounds crazy and maybe my eyes really were playing tricks on me. But I have to see for myself, Nev. I _have_ to. If it wasn't really him then fine, at least I know, and if it was…"

"Then he has a lot of explaining to do." Neville heaved a heavy sigh. "All right, fine. Let's do it, what direction was he heading in?"

"I think he's in the tower," Harry said, pointing up at the high rise that stood directly beneath the portal. It was an enormous, gaudy thing that had once bore what he'd assumed to be the owner's name across its face, but the letters had been destroyed over the course of the fight until only the 'A' remained. "Or somewhere around it. When you were pulling me back I saw him get knocked off his ship and fall in that general area."

"That's right in the middle of everything," Neville observed.

"I know."

"We'll have to fight our way past hundreds of those things."

"Probably."

"We just might die."

"We might," Harry agreed. "You don't have to go with me, you can stay here or join everyone else down in the subways. I can't ask you to risk your life for this."

"You don't have to," Neville sighed. "Honestly, I thought you'd have realized how this works by now, you get yourself into some kind of trouble and we watch your back to make sure you don't go and get yourself killed."

Harry let out a soft snort of laughter. "I'm not that bad, am I?"

Neville looked pointedly at their surroundings.

"Point taken. But I was thinking, I know we said we had no intentions of dying today, and _I _still don't, but if by some fluke of fate I do…this, fighting aliens in the middle of New York City with one of my best friends by my side, that'd be one hell of a way to go."

"It would be, wouldn't it?" Neville smiled. "But you won't be, so knock that thought out of your head and get ready to gank some aliens."

Harry nodded and shot his friend a broad grin. "I can do nothing but comply."

However, before they could leap over the car shielding them from the Chitauri's view and resume decimating the aliens' ranks, a Patronus in the shape of a Jack Russel terrier materialized before them.

"How crazy can research get?" Ron's voice asked. "I mean, what did you do, piss off a librarian? Anyway, Hermione's freaking out because they're not allowing us a portkey into the States, they're saying they're under attack, and, considering you called for backup, you two are right in the middle of it. We'll keep trying for a way to you guys, but in the meantime please try not to get killed, Hermione will never forgive you. Good luck and stay safe."

"Well," Neville sighed, "it looks like we're on our own for now."

"We've been doing all right so far," Harry said optimistically.

"_Don't_ jinx it."

Harry rapped three knocks on the wood of his wand, then vaulted over the hood of the car. He heard Neville curse in exasperation just as he engaged a trio of staff wielding Chitauri.

"Last one to the tower is buying dinner!"

"Wrong," Neville refuted, joining Harry in the melee. "You're buying me dinner no matter what, Potter. After all this shit, it's the least you could do."

* * *

The tower was only a few streets over, but nearly half an hour had passed since Harry and Neville had decided to head in that direction and they were still nowhere near the high rise.

"We need a new plan," Neville gasped, downing several Chitauri in a row only for even more to immediately take their place. "There's too many of them and they just _keep_ coming."

"Even if we somehow managed to close the portal, these things still outnumber us by _a lot_," Harry said. "We need backup, a lot of backup, but judging from Ron's message and what happened at the MACUSA, the wizarding world won't be coming to our aid. I guess they didn't think this city was worth saving."

"I don't think the muggles do either. Correct me if I'm wrong, but is that a bomb?"

Harry snatched a dead Chitauri's staff from the ground and used it to impale one of its comrades through the chest, granting him enough of a reprieve to turn in the direction Neville was looking. Sure enough an oblong object was approaching the city at a frightening speed.

"Those bastards," Harry muttered. He began racking his brain for some sort of spell he could use to stop the missile before it leveled the entire city, but it seemed as if there was no need; the red and gold flying robot soared up behind the explosive and, using what was no doubt a considerable amount of strength, yanked it away from its set course.

"He's going to put it through the portal."

"Smart man," Harry said approvingly as he returned his attention to the suddenly extra ferocious Chitauri. "Maybe it'll blow up the aliens on the other side, give us a _bit_ of a break."

Neville only grunted his agreement, once again occupied in keeping from being impaled.

Harry drove his dagger into the eye of one of the aliens and was turning to take on the next, when an almighty explosion sounded overhead; the Gryffindor robot must have successfully directed the missile through the portal. There was a moment of absolute stillness, not even a full second, and then the Chitauri all around them suddenly flopped to the ground as if they were marionette's whose strings had been cut.

"What the…" Harry kicked at one of the aliens, but it was completely unresponsive.

"They're closing the portal!" Neville exclaimed.

Sure enough, the hole in the sky was slowly receding, closing in on itself meter by meter. The portal was only seconds from disappearing altogether, restoring the sky to its usual flawless cerulean glory when a familiar red and gold figure returned from its voyage into space. The robot appeared through the portal with only seconds to spare, but it was plummeting to earth and was showing no signs of stopping. Harry only had a half of a second to be worried before the angry, green troll leapt off the side of a building and plucked the robot from midair before disappearing from view.

"Well then," Harry sighed, looking around himself uncertainly.

"Is…is it over?" Neville asked, just as unsure. "Are they all dead?"

"I think so. They must have some sort of hive mind," Harry guessed. "And their mother ship was on the other side of that portal. Once the missile destroyed it they all just died."

"How convenient."

"I'll say."

"I suggest a quick break," Neville said, leaning heavily against the hood of a car. "Just five minutes to catch our breath, then we head to that tower to see what we see."

Harry wanted nothing more than to ignore the exhaustion setting deep in his bones and sprint the remaining distance to the tower, but if his friend needed a few minutes to rest after several hours of nonstop fighting, then he could do that for him. What was five minutes in the grand scheme of things? Nothing. Only three hundred seconds. "Yeah, if that's what you want to do we can. No problem."

Neville shot him and amused look. "Or we could keep going. I think I've got enough fuel in my tank to get up there, I can't promise anything about after we get there. You might have to carry me."

Though every joint and muscle in his body was screaming in protest, Harry nodded agreeably. He would carry Neville the whole way if he had to.

The other teen seemed to realize this, if the steadily growing amusement on his face was anything to go by, but fortunately he didn't take advantage. They walked side by side toward the tower, carefully picking their way through the piles of prone alien's and watching as the robot flew up to the enormous balcony like structure protruding from the side of the building, followed by the green troll not long after.

"If it's really him, he's going to be up there," Harry said.

"How are we going to get up there?" Neville asked. "I doubt they're just going to let us walk in."

"They just might," Harry said, nodding his head towards the familiar red, white, and blue clad figure jogging toward them from the other end of the street. As he drew closer, they could hear he was talking, which was odd considering there was no one with him.

"-or, Hulk and Iron Man went ahead to apprehend him. I'm headed for the tower now, meet us there." The man pressed at something in his ear and slowed to a stop when he drew closer to Harry and Neville. "Have you two been out here this entire time?" he asked, eyeing the blood and gore that coated the two teens.

"Yeah, I'm not a big fan of enclosed spaces, blame my aunt and uncle, that subway just wasn't going to cut it," Harry said. "We're fine, we still have all our limbs and everything. But listen, you seem to have a pretty good idea of what just happened."

"It's like I said earlier, it's my job."

"Exactly. So maybe you can help me out with something. During the attack I saw something…_someone_ fighting with the aliens. Who was he?"

"Why do you want to know?" the blonde man asked.

"That's not important," Harry said impatiently. "You know who I'm talking about, right? He was only one man among a whole armada of aliens."

"I do…"

Harry curled his hands into fists in an attempt to stop them from shaking. "Was-was his name Loki?"

The change in the man's entire demeanor was immediate. "How do you know Loki?"

"Merlin," Neville breathed, "he's really here, isn't he?"

"Where is he?" Harry asked urgently.

Blonde eyebrows furrowed in anger and suspicion. "I'm not answering another question until you tell me how you know Loki."

"I already told you, that's not important."

"Why don't you let me be the ju-"

Harry whipped out his wand and shot off a spell faster than the other man could blink. "_Confundo_"

"Harry," Neville hissed, "he's a _muggle_. Are you trying to get arrested?"

"We've been using spells in the general proximity of muggles all day, one more won't make any difference." He turned to the confounded man and granted him a kind smile. "Shall we?"

"Shall we what?" the man frowned. "I'm sorry, I must have lost track of the conversation."

"You were just taking us up to the tower to meet your friends."

"Was I?" The man's confusion seemed to deepen, but he eventually nodded in agreement, albeit the slightest bit reluctantly. "All right then…shall we?"

"Lead the way."

The trio crossed the final few streets and ducked into the main entrance of the tower; the brightly lit, white and chrome lobby remained virtually untouched by the attack outside. The lift on the other side of the hall was still fully operational and slid into motion without the slightest of hitches.

"Good evening, Captain Rogers. The rest of the team has already assembled and are awaiting your arrival."

The lift's three occupants started and immediately began attempting to find the source of the disembodied voice.

"Who's there?" Rogers demanded.

"I am JARVIS. I ensure the smooth operation of everything here in the tower."

"Where's your body, JARVIS?"

"I am an operating system, a computer so to speak, I have no body. May I ask who your two guests are?"

"We're acquaintances of Captain Rogers," Neville spoke up.

"Yeah…yeah, they're acquaintances of mine. From…?"

"The battle, we met fighting the Chitauri," Harry provided. A small frown betrayed his confusion, his spell had been a bit hasty but he'd put a reasonable amount of power behind it, and yet the man, Rogers, was already showing signs of it wearing off.

Fortunately, the ride up didn't take much longer, only a handful of minutes later they came to a smooth stop and the doors slid open to reveal a cavernous room decorated in earthy browns and blacks; it was empty save for the brightly dressed figures standing in a tight cluster several meters away. The group was made up of two blonde men, the redhead woman, the angry green troll, and the robot whose head had folded back to reveal the face of a man.

"Cap," the robot man greeted as they stepped into the room, "JARVIS said you were bringing company."

"Yeah, they're acquaintances of mine…apparently."

The robot turned his attention to the two teens. "Hi, Tony Stark, I own the building. Who are you?"

"It's like the Captain said, we're acquaintances."

"Why did you bring them up here, Rogers?" the redhead asked.

"Uh…"

"Yeah, that was my fault," Harry said. "He wasn't too keen on letting us up here, so I had to…persuade him."

Immediately, every weapon, save for Rogers' shield, was aimed in their direction.

"What did you do, brainwash him?" the blonde haired man wielding a bow and arrow snarled.

"Nothing that extreme," Neville assured them. "He's been confounded is all, a bit like a blow to the head. It only causes confusion, makes it easier to persuade someone to do something they normally wouldn't. He'll be all right in a few minutes."

"And how did you manage to do that?" Stark asked, moving forward so that he stood at Roger's side. "And for what? Why come up here?"

Neville inhaled sharply and took an uncertain step back, but Harry went suddenly and uncharacteristically still. When Stark had stepped forward, he'd left a gap in the loose circle his teammates had been standing in, giving them a clear view of what it was they'd been clustered around to begin with.

Loki.

He was crouched on the floor, in what looked to be some sort of crater gouged into the marble flooring, looking pale, exhausted, and just a bit bruised, but unmistakably and inexplicably _alive_.

"For _that_, actually," Harry whispered. "Nev, I need a shield."

Neville didn't even blink before conjuring the strongest shield in his arsenal, just in time to block the sudden hail of bullets, arrows, and a strange beam of bright light. Harry blasted the six figures with a burst of powerful wind, throwing them against the wall and pinning them there from the crowns of their heads to the bottom of their feet with several sticking charms powerful enough to immobilize even the angry troll.

"Shit," Stark gasped when his robotic suit and the blue light in the center of his chest seemed to flicker, though neither died out completely.

Loki now remained the only figure facing Harry and Neville. The god slowly rose from his crouching position, his gaze flitted over Harry for only a few seconds before something terrible and angry crossed his face and he turned to the blonde man closest to him.

"I did not think you could be so cruel," he said. "Though looking upon it now, I should not be so surprised."

"Loki…what?"

"How long have you known?" Loki hissed. "Was it after you tossed me into the abyss? Or _before_? Is that why you put up such a fight when I tried to destroy Jotunheim. You knew what they had taken from me, you stopped me from enacting my vengeance because you wanted to see me suffer. You were always so careful, so _clever _in hiding your hatred from me." Loki paced like a caged animal. "And Frigga, I almost would not have suspected her, but only she is so skilled in crafting illusions."

"I hear nothing but madness from you." The man, it could only be Thor, _his uncle_, turned to Harry. "Release us child so that I may deal with my brother."

"If anyone's going to be dealing with him, it'll be me." Harry began moving across the room, taking slow but no less purposeful steps toward Loki. His uncle and his companions strained against their invisible bonds to no avail, but he paid them no mind.

As Harry drew closer, Loki took several step backs, almost as if he were afraid, but he recovered in a matter of seconds, and drew himself to his full height. "You are not real."

There was a horrible screeching sound, then an explosion of dust and crushed stone; a pipe tore itself free from the far wall and flew to Harry's outstretched hand. He used the momentum gained from its sudden flight to reach across the small distance that remained between him and Loki and bashed it into the side of the god's head with more force than he'd ever possessed. Enough force to send him crashing to the ground.

"Did that feel real?" he whispered venomously, then raised the pipe, prepared to rain another blow down on Loki before he had the chance to recover.

But then Neville was there, pulling him back and snatching his chosen weapon from his hand. "Merlin, Harry," he exclaimed. "At least give him a chance to explain himself."

Harry yanked himself free from his friend's grip, but made no attempt to reclaim the pipe or move any closer to Loki.

"You cannot be here," the god snarled. "_You're not real_."

"I'm sorry to say this is as real as it gets," Harry spat back at him. "I'm no illusion."

"Harry is dead."

"Wrong. Laufey _told_ you I was dead." He laughed, a bitter thing that did nothing to mask his mounting hysteria. "It's funny, Frigga told me much the same thing about you. The only difference is, Laufey lied to you, she believed every word she told me. She thought you were dead. _I _thought you were dead _because of me_, I carried that guilt with me for months. And yet here you are, wreaking havoc in New York of all places." All of the anger seemed to drain from Harry, leaving him looking lost and confused and the tiniest bit betrayed. "How are you here? Why are you here? And why didn't you ever come back to me?"

Loki shook his head. "This isn't right," he said. "They said you were dead. I thought you were dead. I…I don't understand."

"Yeah? Well that makes two of us then. I'm trying to understand here, but it's just not making sense. What happened after the Bifrost was destroyed? After you fell?"

"He _threw_ me," Loki corrected vehemently. "All I wanted was to avenge you, to make Jotunheim feel the same pain that I did. Thor took the chance at vengeance away to torment me, he wanted to see me broken. And when I finally was, he threw me into the abyss. I did not _fall_. He tossed me aside like the filth he'd always seen me as. But he could not be rid of me so easily, when Thor threw me the othercaught me, he pieced me back together, nurtured and cared for me as my own father never did, then he gave me the tools, the army, I needed to see you avenged."

"What are you talking about? Who is this other that caught you?"

Before Loki could even formulate a response, a deep, wracking shudder shook his body and he hissed in what was unmistakably pain.

Harry turned to Neville, green eyes wide with distress. "Please tell me you see it too," he said. "Something is seriously wrong with him."

Neville regarded Loki warily. "There's only one way to really tell. See if what he says out here, matches up with what's in here." He tapped the middle of his forehead.'

Harry nodded, and returned his focus to Loki. "Hey," he said softly. "Look at me." Their eyes met and held, and for the first time Harry noticed the blue, deep in color and ringing only Loki's pupil. "_Legilimens_."

Loki's mind had always been impenetrable to Harry, or anyone else's for that matter, and yet he was able to slip right in, as if he'd left the door wide open. The first thing he saw was blue, it clung to everything like a viscous fog and made it hard to see much of anything. But then the memories came; they were disjointed and out of order and yet Harry didn't once wonder what it was he was seeing.

"Oh Merlin," he gasped, tearing himself from Loki's mind with such force, he fell backwards and away from the god.

Neville was crouching beside him immediately. "What did you see?"

Harry scrubbed at his face, not at all surprised when his hands came back wet with tears. "It's him," he said. "But _not_. Whoever this man he's speaking of, the one who gave him the Chitauri and persuaded him to attack the earth, he's messed with his mind."

"All right," Neville said, trying to remain calm in the face of his friend's despair. "How can we fix it?"

"Nev, I don't think we _can_. What they did to him…it's so beyond our ability to fix."

"Okay, then what? What are we going to do? This is not you giving up."

"I…no, no of course not." Harry took a deep, steeling breath that still shuddered on the exhale and allowed Neville to help him to his feet. "Not giving up, it's sort of my thing, right?"

Neville nodded approvingly. "Right."

"_Stupefy_." The spell that normally would have slid off of Loki's skin like water, knocked him onto his back and into a deep unconsciousness. He knew, however, it couldn't last for more than a handful of minutes. Harry turned to Thor. "If I give him to you, what will you do with him?"

The god of thunder leveled Harry with a confused and slightly suspicious stare. "Who is he to you?"

"Isn't it obvious? I've been told on more than one occasion that the resemblance is uncanny," he said, a dull mockery of the same words he'd used in introducing Fenris to his friends. A dry smile twisted his lips in the face of Thor's confusion. "I'm his son. I'm _your_ nephew. And if family means anything to you, you'll help me help him."

"Knew it!" Stark exclaimed. "Once they were side by side it was impossible not to notice. The kid's right, the resemblance _is_ uncanny."

Thor's eyes flickered rapidly between Harry's face and Loki's, drinking in the similarities he hadn't noticed until that very moment. "You are, aren't you?" he finally concluded.

"Haraldr Ivarr Kaden Lokisson, in the flesh. I see my father's tales were not exaggerated in the slightest."

Thor frowned, sensing the subtle insult, but a small glimmer of hope shone in his eyes. "Loki would return to Asgard with me," he finally answered, "before his trial I will have the best of our healers both of the mind and body look over him; if he shows signs of being coerced into his actions we will take the proper measures to ensure justice is served where it is due."

Harry nodded and waved his wand, releasing the five adults and one strange creature from their place against the wall. The redhead woman and the blonde bow wielding man immediately reached for their weapons but held off on aiming at Harry.

"Hang on," the archer said. "You're going to acquit him, just like that?"

"If Loki's mind has been tampered with, he cannot be held accountable for his actions."

"What about all of the people he's killed? All the destruction he's wrought?"

"I'm not sure you understand the gravity of what's been done to my father," Harry frowned. "You obviously have something personal against him, you've been targeted by him specifically, but I can assure you that whatever it is he's done to you, the things that have been done to him are far, _far_ worse.

"I looked into his mind, I saw what they did to him, what he endured would bring the most resilient man to his knees. Pain was their favorite tool, their _only _tool. They took his mind, his thoughts, his _memories_, everything that he is and was, and twisted it until he couldn't tell the difference between fantasy and reality. When he looks upon his family, all he sees is hatred, all he feels is pain. Constant, never ending pain.

"My father has been in my life nearly my entire life, there is no one I know better. That man, that despicable creature that waged a war on my home planet and accused his own brother of attempting to murder him is not the man who raised me. Because of them. Whoever they are, they broke him and remolded him into the creature you see before you."

Thor took several steps forward, moving into Harry's direct line of sight. "I will take him to Asgard and ensure that he receives the proper care if so needed. Of that you have my word."

Harry studied Thor's enormous form, sincerity bowed his shoulders and creased his brow. "I suppose I have no option but to take you for it. But if so much as a hair is hurt on his head, I will raze Asgard to the ground. Of that you have _my _word."

Thor nodded solemnly. "He will be held in my comrades' custody while we recover the Tesseract and work to harness its energy. We will depart for Asgard in the morning."

Harry nodded and allowed Thor to scoop the unconscious Loki into his arms. "You might want to find some way to restrain him, he won't remain unconscious for long."

"What did you do to him?" Rogers asked. "To me?"

Harry wiggled his fingers. "Magic. My father has been teaching me since I was young."

"And you?" the redheaded woman nodded to Neville. "That barrier you used to block our weapons was of the supernatural variety."

"Would you believe me if I said I was Asgardian as well?"

"No."

Neville shrugged indifferently. "It was worth a shot. Sorry, I'm not allowed to divulge anything to you, it's classified."

The woman placed a finger on her ear and began muttering to herself, Harry managed to catch a few words: "New developments", "son of Loki", and "magic" being a few of them before she nodded sharply and focused her attention on Harry. "We're going to need you to come with us."

Harry arched an eyebrow. "Is that so? Are we under arrest?"

"Not at the moment. We simply need to ensure you're not a threat to us."

"And if I am? What do you intend to do then?"

"Then the proper steps will be taken to neutralize the threat you pose."

Harry hummed softly to himself. "I'll go. Anywhere he goes," he nodded to Loki, "I go. But my friend will not be."

"Harry," Neville said warningly.

"The portkey will be leaving any minute now. I need you to go home and assure the others we're all right. I'll be there before the end of the night."

"Will you?"

"I will," Harry swore. "I won't leave before returning home and speaking with everyone. I have to speak with my brother as well."

Neville squinted suspiciously at the group of men and woman before him, silently sizing them up. "I'll be telling Hermione to expect you before morning. You know how she gets if you dare be late."

"We'll be needing you as well," the woman protested.

"That's not an option."

"I'm not asking."

Harry snorted and shook his head. "I'd like to see you try and stop him from leaving. You've got me, that's all you need."

"Ah," Neville held up his arm, presenting the rubber band he wore on his wrist, it had finally begun glowing blue, an indication that the portkey would be activating. "Just in time it seems. What should I tell the others?"

They both looked to Loki. Harry shrugged. "The truth, I suppose. Tell Hermione not to fret, I'll be home soon."

"That's never stopped her before." Neville grinned and gave Harry a small wave before he disappeared in a vortex of colors.

"_What?_" Stark gasped.

The redhead and the archer leveled their weapons on Harry, he rolled his eyes and held his hands in the air. "I surrender?"

* * *

Harry was taken via super modern and super spacious jet to the Avengers', as he learned the team was called, headquarters. A giant flying ship floating a few miles outside of the city. They were met immediately by a one eyed men in a black trench coat and a stern faced woman with a tight bun atop her head. Loki, who had only just begun to rouse, was taken down a separate corridor surrounded by at least a dozen heavily armed men and women, whilst Harry was led to a mirrored room with only a metal table and two chairs to furnish it.

The one eyed man followed him into the room immediately and sat across the table from Harry. He introduced himself as Nicholas Fury, the director of SHIELD, the government organization that employed, so to speak, the Avengers, then slid a folder across the table to rest in front of Harry.

"That is everything SHIELD has on you."

"Small folder," Harry said, eyeing the file in amusement, there couldn't be more than two sheets of paper in it. "Doesn't look as if there's much in it."

"There isn't," Fury admitted. "The name you gave us, didn't pull up in the database, but technology, facial recognition software to be exact, is a thing of miracles. We were able to find plenty under your real name, Mr. Potter; grade school evaluations, school attendance records, files on doctor's visits, but that wasn't what we're interested in. We wanted everything from _after_ your eleventh birthday." He pointed to the folder. "_That's_ all we got."

"Pity," Harry hummed. "Is there a point to this narrative?"

"There is, actually. The folder doesn't hold much, but the little it does have is pretty interesting stuff. The higher echelons of SHIELD are aware of the existence of the wizarding world, not many of us, but enough. We've been trying to get information from them for decades, trying to find some way to establish a relationship with the community. We've yet to be successful, but still, every now and then we'll get a trickle of information; we'll get lucky and hear about the dark wizard who tried to take over the British sector of the wizarding world or the seventeen year old boy who managed to take him down."

"Lucky indeed."

"Indeed. Even luckier that, only months after his triumphant victory over the wizard who shall not be named, that very same seventeen year old boy winds up here claiming to be the son of the god who tried to subjugate our world."

"I've yet to see the narrative's point."

"The point is, you're a good guy, Potter," Fury said. "We have CV footage of you and your friend fighting the Chitauri. So when you say there's more to this than we've all seen, I want to believe you. But I'm going to need more than what you've given my team."

"Why do I need to give you anything?" Harry frowned. "My uncle has assured me my father will be returned to Asgard where he will receive treatment for his afflictions. What do you have to offer me?" Fury made to answer, but Harry waved him off. "The correct answer would be nothing. There is nothing you have that I want. But it also goes the other way around, what information I had has already been given freely. There is one, however, who has something to offer the both of us."

"Loki."

"Smart man," Harry smiled. "Allow me to speak with him before he's sent back to Asgard, you can watch, listen in, and record to your heart's content; it's bound to be a treasure trove of knowledge for you."

"And what do you gain from this?"

"My uncle swears to do right by my father, but he is not the Allfather; Thor can do nothing if Odin chooses not to heed my claims. This may be my last chance to speak with him, to understand what and who caused this."

"And you would allow us full access to this conversation?"

"The fullest."

"How much time are you asking with him?"

"However much is needed to understand," Harry said. "But it shouldn't take more than an hour, I can be persuasive in my questioning when I so choose."

"An agent will remain in the room with you throughout the visit," Fury negotiated.

"Absolutely not," Harry denied immediately. "He will not speak with a stranger in the room, I'm still not certain he'll speak with _me_ in the room."

"How will I know you won't take him and run?"

"No matter how much I distrust the Allfather, returning Loki to Asgard to be treated is the only way to fix what has been done to him. I will not risk that….Besides, you've taken my wand and my dagger, I'll be wanting those back."

"Guards will be posted outside of your room as well, the Avengers will be on standby in the next room. If you do _anything_ I don't like, they'll be on your ass before you can say Loki'd."

"Why would I say Loki'd?" Harry frowned, but quickly shook the puzzling though from his head and focused on the topic at hand. "Sorry, never mind. Those terms sound fair enough, let's do it."

"I'll make the proper arrangements," Fury said, then stood and left the room.

Harry waited patiently for a little more than a quarter of an hour, the woman with the McGonagall-esque bun was the one to return and take him to yet another interrogation room, only this time it was Loki sitting across the table from him, not Fury.

"Have you betrayed me, Haraldr?" the god asked, looking several times more exhausted than he'd been when they'd parted ways less than an hour ago.

Harry smiled sadly. "Is that what your mind is trying to tell you?"

"All these memories, these thoughts, they're telling me you were working alongside Thor all along. They're telling me you were bitter that I'd kept you hidden from Asgard for so long, so you faked your death to get me out of the way, to take my place."

"Do you believe it?"

Loki folded his hands on top of the table, but Harry was still able to see the faint trembling that ran through them. "I don't know what I know."

"Not what you know. What do you believe, what do you _feel?_"

"You are my son, I held you when you were just a babe, so tiny and trusting. I've watched you grow, watched you become a better man than I could ever be. If you have betrayed me, I can't help but wonder if perhaps it is justified."

"In the eighteen years of my life, nothing I have ever done has caused you to turn your back on me, and I have done some pretty bad shit. I think it's about time I returned the favor. I won't _ever_ betray you, I'll always remain by your side. I want to help you, but you need to help me do it."

"There is nothing I can do to help you."

"But there is," Harry said. "I need only thing from you. A name. Who is the man you speak of, the one who caught you and cared for you after you fell?"

Loki opened his mouth, as if to answer, but it clicked shut just as quickly as a full body tremor overtook him, shaking the entire table. His fingers gripped the edge of the table with such force it bent beneath his touch.

Harry was immediately on his feet and rounding the table. "He's hurting you, isn't he?"

"There will always be pain. Pain and blue and hatred is all I will ever be."

"No," Harry snapped. "Look at me, Dad. _Look at me_." He only continued speaking when unfocused green eyes shot through with electric blue met his. "You cannot let him win. I've not seen you give anything up in all the years I've known you, I'm not about to let you start now. The first step to beating him is _resisting_. Give me a name."

The entire edge of the table broke off in Loki's hands, but his gaze did not once stray from Harry's. "T-Thanos," he whispered. Then again, with more surety and a touch more strength. "_Thanos_ did this to me."

* * *

Half an hour later, Loki had been returned to his cell where he intended to sleep his latest ordeal off, and Harry was standing in a room full of superheroes.

"I know very little of Thanos, only whispers of a mad titan obsessed with Death," Thor explained in reference to Loki's big reveal. "I can only assume that he is using Loki, at least in part, to collect the six infinity stones. Objects of immeasurable power, the Tesseract is one such object."

"What does he intend to do with them," the redhead, also known as Natasha or the Black Widow, asked.

"With them, he could do nearly anything. Though I believe it is safe to assume that he will not be doing anything _good_ with them."

"Great, because this is exactly what we need," Stark lamented, "some crazy Titan trying to destroy the universe."

"But don't we have the advantage?" Rogers asked. "We still have the Tesseract, he failed in retrieving it."

"For now, yes," Thor agreed. "But it will only be a matter of time before he makes another attempt at reclaiming it. Next time, he will not underestimate us."

"Hard as this may be to believe, this _isn't_ making me feel any better," Stark pointed out.

"By the time he has rallied his troops and prepared for his next attack, the Tesseract will not be anywhere in Midgard's proximity."

"Right, it will be on Asgard, with _Loki_."

Thor's gaze flicked uncertainly in Harry's direction, he had not spoken since returning from his short visit with Loki, an occurrence he had come to believe was most uncommon. "We all just witnessed what occurred in that room, did we not? If there is any more proof to be had, that was it."

"So you believe he's been brainwashed?" the archer, Clint, asked dubiously.

"Yes," Thor said without a moment's hesitation. "I trust my nephew's word. There is far more to this than any of us were previously led to believe."

"I have to agree," Rogers piped in. "I know lies and trickery are sort of Loki's thing, but that felt real. He wasn't faking. If Thor's people are able to confirm that his mind really has been tampered with and if they're able to _fix_ it, we should let them."

No one was able to argue that point.

"So it's settled I suppose," Stark said. "Reindeer Games and Point Break'll be heading back to Asgard come morning. But what about you Loki Jr? You going with them or you plan on subjugating Midgard in place of daddy dearest?"

Harry smiled wryly. "Midgard is my home, I have no plans to subjugate it tonight."

"But maybe some other night?"

"I don't particularly fancy the thought of ruling my own world, it seems as if it would be far too much work."

"So you'll be going to Asgard then."

Harry shrugged noncommittally. "That's yet to be decided, I'm not entirely certain I'm welcome on Asgard."

"Because of what Loki's done?" the curly haired, bespectacled alter ego of the angry green troll asked. "But if he's innocent that shouldn't be a problem, right?"

"Oh no, that shouldn't be an issue. There is another, much more pressing reason my uncle has not learned of my existence until today. How familiar are you with Norse mythology Doctor Banner?"

"I've read stories on Thor and Odin and even a few on Loki, but I'm no expert."

"Hm, well I should inform you that I'm not the first son of Loki, I'm the youngest of five as a matter of fact." To Harry's amusement, the assembled Avengers all made varying sounds of distress, but it was Thor's reaction he was most interested in. The god of thunder seemed to realize what he was getting at almost immediately if the way his entire face crumpled was anything to go by. "My siblings were treated rather horribly, by my grandfather specifically. They were exiled, tossed into oceans, chained to rocks, all because of who their parents were and a prophecy only Odin truly believed in.

"When I was born, my father recognized the danger I was in and so kept me hidden on Midgard. He told no one of my existence for fear that my grandfather would take me away from him. _That_ is why it may not be the best of ideas for me to go to Asgard with my father and uncle."

"But Frigga knows of you," Thor protested. "You said that she was the one to tell you of Loki's death."

"That would be correct," Harry agreed. "One evening, my father left for Asgard, for only a day or two he'd sworn to me, and never returned. After several weeks with no word from him, I went directly against his wishes and traveled to Asgard to find him. I never did, but Frigga found me. It took some time, but once I had managed to convince her of my heritage, she told me all that had happened on Asgard; your brief exile, Odin's fall into the Odinsleep, my father's death. Everything." Harry crossed his arms over his chest as a dark look settled across his face. "That was a bad day for me. I've returned to Asgard only once since."

"She never said anything…" Thor muttered.

"I asked her not to. I knew exactly where Odin stood when it came to any children of Loki, I was not so certain about you. I had already taken a risk in revealing myself to Frigga, it would have been foolish to do so again."

"He thought I condoned what my father had done. But I would never…"

"You never condemned it either."

Thor looked truly distressed by the revelation. "No wonder he hated me."

"But he didn't," Harry said comfortingly. "Despite everything he's done and said these past few months, my father loved you a great deal. I grew up on stories about you, tales of the battles you and he fought in side by side, the tricks he perfected getting you out of scrapes are the very same ones he's used for me countless times. Loki never hated you, nor did I, I've been wanting to meet you my entire life." He laughed ruefully. "I suppose it's only fitting that my wish would be granted under such unpleasant circumstances. My life has never been anything _but_ unpleasant circumstances and poor timing."

"No matter," Thor smiled bracingly, but Harry could still see the vestiges of pain dulling the shine in his eyes. "It has been a trying few days, but you bring glad tidings of family and hopes of redemption for my brother. I am pleased to meet you, son of my brother and nephew of mine."

Harry smiled warmly and dipped his head in an acknowledging nod. This was nothing at all how he'd imagined his first meeting with his uncle to be, he'd hoped at the very least his father would be there, alive and well, not being held prisoner in the next room over, half-mad from unimaginable tortures inflicted upon him by a mad titan. But, at this point, he would take anything he could get, the rest could be worked out later.

* * *

**A/N: I've been getting a lot of questions about how the Avengers would play out and what Harry's first encounter with Thor would be like. I purposely didn't respond to any as I didn't want to let anything slip. I hope it lives up to, if not exceeds your expectations as I know that this chapter is something many people, myself included, have been looking forward to. **


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

Harry wasn't released from SHIELD's tentative custody until well past midnight, several hours after the end of what they were already calling the Battle of Manhattan. By then, the MACUSA had come off of lockdown and begun the process of returning all of the building's occupants to their families and what was left of their homes. Harry secured a portkey easy enough and was home within the hour.

To no one's surprise at all, Neville, Blaise, Ron, and Hermione were waiting up for him when he returned, they each gave him a relieved hug before urging him in the direction of his bathroom to wash up before they had a much needed talk.

"Nev was vague at best," Ron frowned. "All he told us was that Loki's alive and he's been brainwashed. But storytime can wat until after you've washed up, had one of us look you over for injuries, and got a good meal in you."

"You're starting to sound like your mum," Harry smiled wearily as he allowed himself to be manhandled.

"Well, there are worse things to be. Take your bath, we'll be waiting for you in the kitchen with a warm drink and something for you to eat."

Harry didn't allow himself to remain in solitude for long, he had far too much to do and too little time in which to complete it to allow himself to become entrapped in his thoughts. He allowed himself less than ten minutes to scrub away the blood, dirt, and sweat that caked his skin, and another five to patch up the worst of his already healing injuries, then made his way down to the kitchen where his friends were, as promised, waiting.

"Onion soup with a side of fresh bread," Blaise said, placing a bowl before Harry the moment he was seated. "Perfect for the weary soul."

"I think right about now there are no souls wearier than mine," Harry sighed, tucking into his meal with relish.

"You've had a pretty tough go of things lately," Ron agreed. "And it seems like it still isn't over."

Harry shook his head. "You don't know the half of it. I'm glad to have my father back, you have no idea how much _lighter_ I feel knowing he's alive, but I've come to realize the granting of my wishes always comes at a cost. I'm not sure I'll be able to afford this one."

"What happened?" Hermione coaxed gently.

"Nev gave you the basics at the very least, right? The Chitauri attack and such?"

She nodded. "Yes, aliens invaded the city and you decided to fight (and don't you think for a second that we won't be having _words_ about that later). You saw your dad leading the aliens against the city and, when you tracked him down, you found out he'd been brainwashed."

"That's about right. When the rainbow bridge was broken and my father fell, the energy from the Bifrost sent him to the domain of a Titan, a being of huge power, named Thanos. Thanos took his grief and anger and coupled it with some intense torture to twist the way he viewed the world and those he was close to. He accused my uncle and grandmother of purposely plotting against him and going out of their way to cause him pain."

"But why? What purpose would that serve?"

"According to my uncle, Thanos is obsessed with six objects called infinity gems, apparently they'd give him the power to conquer the universe." He nodded in consolation when Ron made a noise of frustrated distress. They'd only _just_ got rid of their most recent megalomaniac. "One of the stones is here on Midgard, the Tesseract. Thanos amassed an army to come here to retrieve it, the Chitauri they were called, but they weren't the most intelligent of creatures." Neville hummed in agreement. "They needed someone to lead them and my father was the perfect candidate. Thanos attempted to bribe him at first, lead the Chitauri in an attack against Midgard and collect the Tesseract and he would help him destroy Jotunheim. Dad refused of course, he wanted to destroy Jotunheim in my name, but he wasn't about to unleash an army of mindless creatures upon my home realm in order to do so. So Thanos tortured him, broke him; he stole those morals from him and, in turning him against our family, gave him twice the incentive to complete the task."

"But you broke him out of it, right?" Blaise inquired, tone laden with concern. "You cured him of that?"

Harry shook his head. "What was done to him is beyond anything we've ever been equipped to handle. The control over his mind isn't like a normal Imperius. Thanos used pain and a power unlike anything I've ever seen to twist and reshape his mind. There is _nothing_ any of us could have done for him, so I handed him over to my uncle to return to Asgard."

"But won't he be punished for what's happened?" Hermione gasped. "Your father and grandfather weren't exactly on the best of terms in the months leading up to Loki's fall, don't you think he'll be harsher on him than he would be any other time?"

"I spoke with my uncle and he promised that he would see to it that Dad receives the proper care and treatment," Harry said. "But we all know that it isn't up to him what happens to my father, if Odin feels so inclined, he will be locked away and never receive a lick of treatment. That's why I intend to go to Asgard and watch over their meeting to ensure it doesn't come to that. I'll appeal for his innocence if I have to."

"You're going to reveal yourself to Odin!" Ron exclaimed. "But what if he tries to have you locked away somewhere like the rest of your siblings?"

"I don't think he will. Both Thor and Frigga have accepted me, the Allfather wouldn't dare try something with the both of them in my corner," Harry explained reassuringly. "And even if he does, I have to try anyway, I won't see my father imprisoned for something he has no control over."

"I don't like it," Neville said, looking put out.

"Neither do I, but this is something I have to do. Don't worry, I promise I'll do everything I can to be back within a few days, a week at most."

Hermione shook her head, a sad but no less determined expression had darkened her face. "No. No, you won't be. You _shouldn't _be. There's no telling how long it'll take to prove Loki's innocence, and even after that, it may take weeks, maybe even months before he's healed from his ordeal, and I know you'll want to be with him throughout it all. You need to go to Asgard and you need to stay there. Don't make any promises on when you'll be coming back because you can't know for certain when everything on Asgard will be rectified. Just be there for your father, don't worry about us."

"As usual, Hermione's right," Neville said. "You're needed far more on Asgard than you're need here, and I mean that in the nicest way possible. Go and take care of your father, we'll still be here whenever you're ready to come back. And who knows, maybe you won't come back, maybe you'll find that's where you're meant to be."

Both Blaise and Ron nodded in solemn agreement.

"Okay," Harry hesitantly agreed. "All right, I'll do that. But I want to find some way to remain in contact with you all while I'm there, to make sure you know I wasn't arrested and imprisoned the moment I stepped foot on Asgard."

"Maybe something like the two way mirrors Sirius gave you back in fifth year," Ron suggested. "Though they'll probably have to be a bit more powerful than the normal sort to work on separate worlds."

"When do you plan on leaving for Asgard?" Hermione asked.

"Uncle Thor is returning to Asgard with Dad sometime after the US' sunrise, so probably in about ten hours or so."

"That's more than enough time to figure something out. If you can lend me the stone Loki gave you for contacting him, I'll work on it while you get some rest."

"I can't rest yet," Harry protested, "I still have to talk with Fenris."

"That can wait a few more hours, you have time," Blaise said as he steered him toward the stairs. "Sleep for a bit, you've had a long day and tomorrow will be longer still; you'll need to be well rested.

"Just a few hours?" Harry inquired hesitantly. He really _was _tired.

"I'll wake you at ten," Hermione promised. "Now get me that stone then go to _sleep_."

* * *

The few hours of sleep Harry was able to catch weren't near enough to cure him of the exhaustion that bogged down his body and muddled his mind, but when Hermione came to rouse him at ten o'clock on the dot, he dutifully climbed from his bed and slowly began preparing for what was going to be an undoubtedly long day. The others, save for Neville who was likely recovering from the previous day's ordeal via lots and lots of sleep, were already assembled in the kitchen when he stumbled down the stairs. They exchanged small talk as Harry consumed a single scrambled egg and a cup of coffee, then accompanied him down to the forest's edge.

"I've been taking a look at the enchantments that allow for two-way mirrors," Hermione said as they walked, "and they're fairly easy to replicate. They only work if the mirrors are within a certain distance of them, so the space between Asgard and Earth would be a bit too much for them to handle. But I've been studying your stone and I think I've found a way around it. Give me another hour and I should have it."

"Did you sleep at all last night?" Harry asked.

"Between waiting for you to come home and working on that? No. But it's all right, I'll catch up tonight."

Harry smiled and shook his head in exasperated amusement. "You're brilliant, as always. Thank you."

"It's just as much for my benefit as is it for yours. Go and talk to your brother," she said, planting a quick peck on his cheek. "I'll show you the mirrors when you're through."

Tracking Fenris down to the little clearing he'd set up camp in was fairly easy, all Harry had to do was follow the trail of uprooted foliage, broken saplings, and enormous pawprints. Said camp was empty, save for the various animal remains strewn all over the place (Fenris was likely off hunting for his breakfast), so Harry made himself comfortable on the mossy ground and simply allowed himself to bask in the quiet sounds of the forest.

Fenris didn't have him waiting long, however, he came trotting into the forest after barely a quarter of an hour with a deer's carcass held tight in his jaws. Upon seeing Harry, he dropped his kill and donned his human form.

Harry greeted him with a cheerful wave and suffered through the wolf-man's passive aggressive mother henning for a few minutes before informing him of the previous day's excitement; he detailed everything from the Chitauri invasion to his discovery of a brainwashed and maddened but remarkably alive Loki.

Fenris was understandably unimpressed by the revelation that their father was alive and wreaking havoc, but, upon learning of his torture and conditioning at the hands of Thanos, he exhibited his first show of concern for Loki.

"What became of him?" he asked.

"Thor has taken Dad into custody," Harry explained. "They'll be returning to Asgard today, in a few hours as a matter of fact. If it is decided he truly is innocent of the crimes he's committed, they will attempt to piece his mind back together. If they choose not to believe our tale of torture and brainwashing, the Allfather will likely see to it that he is tossed into the deepest, darkest pit and forgotten all about. I'll be joining them on Asgard, just in case the latter option becomes a reality."

"You would fight them," Fenris observed.

"For Dad? Of course I would."

"I will be joining you then."

"What?" Harry startled. "No. That's a bad idea. A _very _bad idea."

Fenris raised a mocking eyebrow. "You may be a powerful sorcerer, but you could not hope to stand against the full might of Odin's guard. With me you may have a fighting chance."

"You can't come with me. Odin doesn't know you've been freed, if you show up with me you'll only make a bad situation worse. Besides, if everything goes to plan, I intend to remain on Asgard for some time, you'll have nowhere to run and hunt."

"Odin will discover that I am no longer on Lyngvi eventually, I would prefer it be on my own terms," Fenris said. "But perhaps you are right in that now may not be the time." Harry only had a moment to breathe a sigh of relief before his brother was speaking again. "Instead, you will conceal me with your sorcery so that I will remain undetected while you converse with the Allfather. If, as you say, 'everything goes to plan', I will retreat to the forest at the base of the Asgardian mountains where I will await your word."

"What if things don't go according to plan?" Harry asked curiously. "There's a chance Odin will have me arrested before I even have the chance to plead Dad's case."

Fenris grinned ferally. "Then I will eat him," he said simply.

"What? No!" Harry spluttered. "That's the exact thing we're trying to avoid. You'd start the Asgardian apocalypse."

"If that is so, then it would be in the Allfather's best interests to leave you alone. I will give him fair warning, if he chooses not to heed it then he will be lunch."

Harry could only gape in silent wonder, he found himself oddly touched by the idea that Fenris would be willing to start the apocalypse to keep him out of Odin's hands. "How can I say no to that?"

"You don't."

And that was the end of that.

Hermione, Ron, and Blaise were confused when Harry returned with Fenris in tow, but when he informed them that his brother would be accompanying him, they seemed incredibly relived.

"I didn't like the thought of you going alone," Hermione said. "But I knew you wouldn't allow us to join you. If we can't watch your back, at least you have Fenris to do it." The others nodded in agreement. "Now, as promised, I've managed to come up with a modification on the enchanted mirrors. I used a combination of runes and spell casting to allow for communication between such a long distance. They're untested, obviously, but they should work." She handed Harry two palm sized mirrors. "These two are for you, one for regular use and the other as backup, in case you lose or break the first. We each have one of our own and I've hung another in the study in case you want to talk to all of us at once. Say 'study' to reach the study or the name of the person you want to speak with into your mirror and you'll activate theirs, just like with the one Sirius gave you."

"You're fantastic, Hermione," Harry beamed. "Thank you."

"Like I said before, I'm getting something out of this as well," Hermione said, though her cheeks still flushed pink. "I'll rest a bit easier knowing you have a way to contact us if things wind up going pear shaped."

"I'm fairly confident they won't, not when I've got Fen to keep me out of trouble."

"Let's hope you can do what we never could," Ron said to the man-wolf.

"No promises will be made," he said in response.

Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes, but not even he could deny he attracted trouble like no one else. "As fun as it listening to you make jokes at my expense, it's about time for us to start heading over to Stonehenge."

"Already?" Blaise frowned. "The sun's barely even risen over in the States. Surely they won't be moving your father for a few more hours."

"They probably won't be, but Fen and I need to get to Asgard and get set up before Thor and my dad do. It wouldn't do for us to miss them."

"Have you got everything you need all packed up?" Hermione fretted. "Clothing, your wand, your dagger?"

"And a month's worth of clean underwear," Harry teased, retrieving his rucksack from the back of a chair.

"No one has that many pairs of underwear," she retorted. "Let me go and wake Neville, then we'll say our goodbyes."

After informing a barely coherent Neville of the addition of Fenris to their plans and exchanging several minute's worth of goodbyes, the two brothers apparated to the sparsely populated national park. With the help of two disillusionment spells and the strongest levitation charms Harry had in his arsenal, they managed to make it through the inconveniently placed portal. Luck seemed to be on their side for at least that moment as neither Harry nor Fenris stumbled over the wrinkle in the portal, they both landed neatly in the cave tucked in the mountainside.

Harry held his arm out for one last apparation onto the palace's grounds. "You ready for this?"

Fenris took a deep inhale of the crisp, mountain air as he looked down upon the golden city with a dark gaze. "I suppose we will have to see."

"That's all I could hope for. Into the lion's den we go."

He turned on his heel and apparated.

* * *

Loki awoke to a moderately comfortable bed and a glass cage and immediately breathed a little easier; in knowing that he wasn't with Thanos. The Titan had never needed transparent walls and reinforced steel to hold his prisoners, he'd always preferred cages of the more subtle, _mental_ sort. Loki had no idea who was holding him prisoner, but he knew they could not hold even a candle to his previous captors in terms of general terribleness. That didn't, however, mean he wasn't curious.

He allowed his eyes to drift shut as he attempted to see past the perpetual haze of blue and recall how he had ended up in his latest prison. He had launched his attack on Midgard, he had fought amongst the Chitauri but they had lost, the group of rag-tag heroes had defeated them. He didn't find himself as upset by the thought as he should have been. The heroes in which the traitor…his brother…_Thor _fought alongside had apprehended him in the home of the Man of Iron, they'd been about to chain him and return him to their base when _he_ arrived.

The blue surged and began battering his mind as it whispered sweetly into his ear.

_ None of it had been real. It was all just an illusion crafted by Thor and Frigga to cause him pain._

No, but no, he had known things only his son could know.

_Not an illusion then, but a betrayal._

Had Haraldr betrayed him? Had he succumbed to honeyed promises of a place in Asgard and the favor of the future king?

No, he hadn't, he'd said it himself: _"I won't ever betray you. I will always be on your side_."

He wouldn't betray him. He _hadn't_ betrayed him.

Loki gritted his teeth as the blue sharpened into a thousand knives and pierced into his mind, it tore and it screamed and demanded he comply.

No. His son was alive, he had not betrayed him. Thanos had lied. What else, he wondered, had he lied about?

"Loki?"

The trickster god disregarded the pain in his head, he'd become quite an expert at that, and rose to his feet. Thor stood outside of his cell, his face was creased with concern.

"Are you well?"

Loki ignored the question as he cast his gaze about him. Where was he? He had to see him. "Where is Haraldr?" he asked sharply. "Where is my boy?"

"He has returned to his home," Thor said.

"No, _no_, I must see him. I need to see him."

"And you will," Thor attempted to placate. "But first you must be healed. We will return home, repair the wrongs done to you, then we will see your son."

But Loki was inconsolable. "No, I muse see him. I need to see him," he repeated, growing more and more desperate the longer he went without his son. "Please, do not take him from me. I beg you, let me see my son."

"I'm sorry, brother, I cannot."

"Traitor!" Loki hurled his cot at the glass, then rushed at it himself, furiously pounding at the point in which Thor stood before. "What have you done to him? Where is he?"

"Loki, please," Thor begged in distress. "He is safe, I swear."

The skin on his hands tore and blood smeared the glass, but he continued on as if he didn't even notice. "Liar! You mean to take him, you mean to hurt him, to punish me and torment me. If you do anything, if you touch a hair on his head I will kill you myself. I will destroy all that you hold dear and burn your precious realm to the ground."

Thor could only gape and shake his head as Loki continued to hurl maddened threats and insults interspersed with pleas to see his son. He slowly turned away.

"Don't turn your back on me, Odinson! Come back. Bring me my son!"

Thor exited the cell block with a heavy step and an even heavier heart; he returned to the room in which his teammates were waiting, all facing the device that projected images from Loki's cell. His brother was pacing the small space like a wild animal, occasionally shouting out obscenities and the same demands to see his son or battering at the bloodied glass. The Avengers were all exhibiting their own signs of sympathy and disturbance, even the archer Barton, who had harbored doubts regarding the validity of the claims of torture and brainwashing, looked unnerved by the display.

"Maybe we should gas him," Stark suggested. "He won't be able to break through the glass, there's no point letting him hurt himself trying."

"No," Thor denied immediately. "I will give him no further reason to distrust me."

"There's no way he'll allow anyone to get close enough to cuff him and get him ready for transport," Agent Romanoff pointed out. "I don't think even you would be able to subdue him long enough when he's so worked up."

"Give him some time," Thor pleaded. "He will calm down on his own."

None of the Avengers seemed particularly pleased by the idea, but they all obligingly settled down in a silent agreement to wait it out.

It wasn't quick; it took nearly half an hour for Loki to run out of both ammunition and energy. He was so exhausted by his fit of rage, he didn't put up a lick of protest when Thor and his teammates arrived to secure him for his return to Asgard.

"I will return in the next few months to inform you of Loki's fate," Thor promised after they'd been moved to a secure area cleared for travel. "It was an honor to fight alongside you all, I only hope our next meeting will be under better circumstances."

"You and I both, Point Break," Stark said.

Thor adjusted his grip on the strange device that held the Tesseract then held it out to Loki who reached out and mechanically took hold of it as well. There was a burst of blue energy and then they were on the steps of the palace. They were immediately met by an armada of guards and led to the throne room where both Odin and Frigga awaited.

The moment Frigga laid eyes on her youngest son, she stepped forward, a tearful greeting on her lips only to fall still when the Allfather slowly rose from his throne. He pinned Loki with an unreadable look before turning to face Thor. "You have done well in completing your task, as I knew you would," he commended.

Thor frowned and shook his head, obviously displeased by the praise. However, before he could say a word of protest, Loki was speaking.

"Come now, son of Odin, where is the arrogance you are so well known for? Strut, preen, you've won. Accept your praise."

Odin turned his suddenly hard gaze on his adopted son. "Loki Laufeyson, you have brought disgrace upon this family."

"No father, we have been misled-"

Loki's hysterical laughter cut off Thor's attempt at protesting. "Why so surprised, Allfather?" he mocked. "You should have expected nothing less from the unwanted runt of the very race you've gone to war with on countless occasions. Did not my ancestors attempt to do the very same thing I did yesterday? It is in my nature."

"Where I went wrong with you, I may never know."

"Abducting me from my homeland might be the best place to start," Loki said sardonically. "Or maybe it was the part where you deceived me my entire life, led me to believe I was one of you, only to toss me aside when you no longer had use for me. Or perhaps we should look at all of the times you ridiculed and punished me for my gifts. Or when you tore my children from my arms, treated them like monsters, something to be feared when in truth it was always you who was the monster. Liar. Deceiver. Thief. I have not brought shame upon this family, Allfather. You have."

Odin's face twisted with anger. "The blame for your wrongdoings can lie on no one's shoulders but your own."

"Foolish old man-"

"Silence, Loki!" Thor snapped before turning to stare imploringly up at his father. "There is more to this than we have been led to believe. Loki is not of his right mind, it has been tampered with, twisted to help further the agenda of a madman. Thanos.

"Thanos?" Odin repeated incredulously. "He is worlds away. What would Loki have to do with him?"

"He encountered him after his fall from the bridge. Thanos caught him and used his vulnerability to break him."

"And where did you learn this? Did Loki tell you? You should know better by now than to fall prey to his silver tongue."

Thor hesitated, unsure whether he should reveal his brother's secret. Before he could come to a decision on whether or not it was worth the risk, however, Loki was once again speaking.

"Silence _yourself_, Odinson. Thanos did nothing but show me the true way of things. He revealed to me just how deep your deception ran, he cared for me and nurtured my gifts as you never did."

"Loki, no." Thor could see the swirl of blue that tainted the green of his brother's eyes, he'd begun to associate the presence of the unnatural color with the conditioning Thanos had inflicted upon him, but what showed even greater than the blue was a deep fear. Loki was lying, he was purposely antagonizing Odin to protect his son.

"You know nothing of which you speak," the trickster snarled over his protests. "Liars and traitors all of you. Being thrown from that bridge was the best thing that could have ever happened to me."

"He quite clearly does not agree with your claims," Odin said drily.

"He is confused and maddened by the torture inflicted upon him," Thor pleaded.

"The only torture inflicted upon me is being forced to stand in your presence."

"Loki, _please_."

"What I would not give to finish the job Laufey was so close to completing."

"My patience is quickly drawing thin, boy."

"To have you at my mercy…"

"Allow me to take him to the healing halls where I can prove that he is not of his right mind."

"He does not deserve the confidence you grant him and his outrageous story."

"To show you what true pain is."

"He was not the one inform me of the wrongs done to him!"

"Only when you have experienced the extent of the suffering I was forced to endure by your hand tenfold will I begin to consider granting you the mercy of ending your pathetic, meaningless life."

The guards along the walls drew their weapons at the threat to their king.

"One more word and that will be the end of you!" Odin roared.

"Stand down," Frigga shouted. "Enough, Odin. This is your _son_."

"He is no son of mine."

"Finally _something _we can agree on."

"Loki, please," Frigga moved until she was standing before Loki. "Allow us to help you."

She reached out to place a consoling hand on his arm, however, he snatched it into a bruising grip before she could make contact. Odin, Thor, and the legion of guards tensed, prepared to act if need be, but he only harshly threw her hand aside. "I do not want your pity," he hissed. "You too are a traitor, _Frigga_. You are no mother of mine."

"Seize him," Odin ordered coldly.

"No!" Thor cried, batting away the sudden rush of guards with a swing of his hammer.

The shackles around his wrists and ankles allowed only the barest of mobility, but Loki was still able to hold off the men attempting to grab him with skillfully driven elbows and powerful headbutts.

"Odin stop this," Frigga pleaded over the din of the battle. "Please."

"He must be held accountable for his actions."

Loki let out a pained breath when an armored fist slammed into his stomach. With his bound limbs and Thor's reluctance to do any harm to the guards, they were quickly losing this fight; it was only a matter of time before they were fully overwhelmed.

As if they could hear his thoughts and sense his growing despair, the guards let out rallying cries and rushed the pair all at once.

"As your prince, I command you to stand down!" Thor shouted.

As predicted, not a single one listened. Loki only had time to let out a burst of hysterically exhilarated laughter and slam his forehead into the nose of one of the guards before a sudden shockwave rippled throughout the room, throwing everyone to the ground.

There was a beat of stunned silence, then an all too familiar figure stepped into the throne room.

"That," Harry said dangerously, "is _enough_."

Loki could hear Frigga's surprised gasp somewhere behind him, but he paid her no mind as he scrambled to his feet and tripped over the dazed guards to reach his son. "No, no, no. You cannot be here. It's not safe. Why are you here? You must go. Stay away. Stay safe." He pushed Harry behind his back, shielding him from the room's occupants with his body and began attempting to herd him from the room. The moment he moved toward the exit, Odin was on his feet and pointing Gungnir at the pair of them. "Stay away from him! I mean it, keep away or, bound or not, I'll kill you with my bare hands."

Thor moved into Loki's line of sight and, as a result, into Odin's line of fire. "He will not harm him," he said earnestly. "I will not allow him to, I swear."

Loki shook his. "Liar. You wish to take him from me."

"I only wish to help."

"Helping is not in your nature, Odinson."

Loki was practically vibrating from pent up anxiety, he looked a moment away from bolting from the room. However, the moment Harry placed a gentle hand on his arm, he fell still. "Calm down," he murmured. "Thanos lied to you, yeah? About me being dead, there's a chance he lied to you about a few other things as well. Give them a chance to prove themselves and, if they prove to be untrustworthy...well, Odin, Frigga, and Thor against you and I? That's not much of a fight. We'd wipe the floor with them."

"I am bound," Loki pointed out. "In both body and magic, I can barely fight."

A murmured incantation had his shackles enlarging until they slid from his wrists and hit the floor with a sharp clatter.

"I can't do anything for your magic," Harry said, "but that should even the playing field."

Gungnir began glowing ominously in Odin's hands. "Thor," he barked, "move."'

"Enough, Odin," Frigga said. "Let us hear them out before we make any more rash decisions."

The Allfather looked down at her sharply. "Why are you so eager to believe his story? What is it you know that I don't?" Frigga hesitated, which only seemed to anger him even more. "Speak!"

"He is Loki's son," Thor spoke up. "_My nephew_."

Odin's weathered face smoothed until his expression was nigh unreadable. "Is that so?" While his face was unreadable, his voice held the slightest hint of danger. "And why is it, I am only just now hearing of this?"

"Perhaps it had something to do with you exiling all of Loki's other children," Thor said stiffly.

"That was for the good of this realm."

"What of the good of your son?"

"A good king must realize that some sacrifices have to be made."

"A great man knows that some things are not negotiable," Harry cut in. "Your child's happiness being one such thing. Do you often use your mantle as king to excuse your failings as a father?"

Odin's dark gaze zeroed in on Harry, who didn't so much as flinch. "It would do you well to hold your tongue," the older man said. "It is only due to my mercy that neither of you have been apprehended by my guards."

Loki's entire form tensed with fury and even Thor seemed to grip his hammer just the slightest bit tighter, but Harry remained wholly unintimidated. "Actually, I think it's due to the fact that your guards are still trying to scrape themselves up from the floor, where _I _put them by the way."

"Peace, the both of you," Frigga said. "Nothing will be accomplished with you snapping at each other. Haraldr, darling, why have you come here?"

"I wanted to ensure my father wasn't wrongfully imprisoned. Too long has he been wronged by this family, I refuse for this to me another such instance."

"I cannot expect you to understand," Odin frowned.

"I understand more than you realize," Harry scoffed. "I know of Ragnarok. I know how it's been foretold that it is my siblings who will cause the end of your world as you know it."

"Then you should realize that some things are out of even my control."

"And yet you tried to control it anyway, much to your detriment."

"My detriment?" Odin repeated. "Are you threatening me?"

"I'm not threatening, merely stating facts," Harry said dismissively. "Are you not familiar with the term self-fulfilling prophecy?" He interpreted Odin's silence as denial and so moved to elaborate. "This may be a bit difficult for you, but imagine a reality where you tell my father of his heritage much earlier in his life, one where you greet his children with all of the doting love a grandfather should. Now imagine another, you'll find this one to be much easier, where you keep the secret of his heritage from him until it's revealed in the absolute worst way possible in situation beyond your control, where you take his children and chain them to rocks, enslave them, throw them into the sea, and banish them to far off realms and deny their father the right to ever see them again. Of the two scenarios, which do you think is mostly likely to lead to the end of days?"

Odin had no answer, fortunately, Harry hadn't been expecting one.

"This was never about the prophecy. You knew from the very beginning where my father had come from, who he is descended from; he's the child of one of your greatest enemies, the descendant of _monsters_. And, no matter how unconsciously, you laid the blame of all of Jotunheim's crimes on his shoulders. A burden he never deserved to bear.

"The forms my siblings had been born to only strengthened your conviction. His entire line was tainted, his blood was that of a monster. Your actions weren't for the _good of this realm_, your actions were those influenced by your hatred, your prejudice, and your fear." Harry's green eyes bore into his grandfather's with nearly two decades worth of anger and resentment. "You can say whatever you want about Loki; he may be a liar, a trickster, a _Jotun,_ but he will always be a better man and ten times the father you ever were."

"You say that even after he has attempted to lay waste to an entire realm?" Odin snapped.

"I believe it was already established that his actions were not his own," Harry said. "My father was tortured for _weeks_ without reprieve, he was coerced into carrying out that attack. And yet he was still able to find the strength to break through it enough not to turn on me when we came face to face. Could you claim the same?"

"What he says is true, Father," Thor said. "Thanos used torture to twist his mind. No matter what he's said this past hour, he truly is innocent of his crimes."

Odin still wasn't entirely convinced, but he at least seemed inclined to listen. "Do they speak the truth?" he asked Loki.

Harry's father tensed when the Allfather turned his attention on him, he was trembling minutely under Harry's touch.

"He is unwell," Frigga stepped in before Odin had time to interpret Loki's silence as some form of disrespect. "I will not have you interrogating him until he has been taken to the healing halls where Eir can look him over. Perhaps she will be able to decide for us whether what Thor and Haraldr have said is true and Loki truly has suffered some degree of torture."

"So you will side with them," Odin said almost sadly. "How long have you known of this? How long have you been deceiving me?"

"Not once have I deceived you," Frigga said, clearly unimpressed by her husband's dramatics. "I only protected my grandchild. What Haraldr said is true, Loki trusted us with the well-being of his children and we spat in his face. I doubt I will ever regain his trust and I can't even fault him for it. What we did was inexcusable and I will spend the rest of my days trying to atone for my sins. Beginning with seeing to it that my son receives the care that he deserves after his ordeal." She turned her gaze onto her sons and grandchild. "Take Loki to the healing halls, I will be along shortly."

"Dad?" Harry queried tentatively. "Will you go with us? Will you let us help you?"

The battle within Loki was visible in the shadows of his eyes, Thor and Frigga's support of him was going against everything his conditioning was likely telling him and it was obviously paining him greatly. And yet he was still able to gather enough force of will to nod once.

The three men left immediately and made their way to the healing hall in silence. Harry was so focused on supporting his father's weight, he allowed himself no time to marvel at the beauty of the castle's interior.

"Lady Eir," Thor called out when they entered what Harry assumed to be the Asgardian equivalent of an infirmary, "I have need of your assistance."

A beautiful woman whose dark hair was tied up into a practical knot detached herself from a small group of healers and approached the trio. However, when she caught sight of Loki, she stopped short.

"Prince Loki? But I thought…."

"My brother has endured much these past few months," Thor explained when it became obvious she was too surprised to even attempt to complete her sentence. "Would you be so kind as to look him over?"

At his words, Eir determinedly shook herself from her shock. "What is ailing you, my prince?"

Loki made no move to speak, so Thor answered in his stead. "He has healed from his physical injuries, what inflicts him is of the mind."

An unsettled look crossed the woman, Eir's face, but she nodded in understanding. "We'll need the soul forge for that."

"And privacy, as well," Harry added. "If it's not too much to ask."

Eir looked to Harry questioningly, quite clearly curious as to who he was. However, when again no answer was forthcoming, she turned to Thor who only nodded in agreement to Harry's request. "Of course," she said, only a touch hesitantly.

It took only a few minutes to clear the hall of everyone but the four of them and get an incredibly reluctant Loki into the soul forge. He remained as stiff as a petrified Mrs. Norris throughout the entire time it took the strange device to fire up and search out any non-physical injuries that may be ailing him.

Harry was torn between being concerned for his father and entranced by the proceedings as a fiery silhouette of Loki's form rose from his body and hovered a meter or so above him. Eir began plucking at the glowing strands that made up the silhouette, murmuring to herself as she did; the longer she worked, the more her face became creased with unrest.

"What do you see, Lady Eir?" Thor queried after several minutes of tense silence.

"It looks as if his mind has been tampered with a great deal," the healer said, only to quickly amend her statement. "No, not only his mind, but his magic as well. There is powerful energy, one that I do not recognize, at work here. Do you see that?" She fiddled about with the image a bit, plucking and rearranging the glowing strands until a sudden, electric blue (a color Harry was truly beginning to hate) flared up. The blue was not only around the image of Loki's head, but also interspersed throughout his entire body. "Whatever this energy is, it's latched onto his magic and it's turning it against him. I do not know for what purpose, but I doubt it's anything good."

As Eir spoke, Frigga swept into the hall; her lips were pinched thin and her face was twisted into an expression of barely controlled rage, but when she spoke, her voice was remarkably even. "Can it be fixed?"

Eir studied the soul forge and the strange blue energy running along the lengths of Loki for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I believe it can be. Whatever this energy is, it's been cut off from its source, and so it's losing its grip on him. He should be completely free from it in no more than a fortnight and his magic will be his once more."

"But…?" Harry prompted, sensing that there was more to what she was saying.

"But it's as I said, the energy was turning his magic against him, it was using it to hurt him. He was being tortured by his own magic, he couldn't escape from the pain because it's _a part _of him. The psychological effects of that will take far longer to heal."

"How can we aid the process?" Thor asked earnestly.

"I don't want your aid." Loki, who had previously been lying rather docilely on the dais, pushed himself into a sitting position, disrupting the forge's image. "I don't trust you poking about in my mind. I won't have you trying to mold me into your perfect soldier."

"No one will be doing any poking about in your mind," Harry said. "Nor will anyone try and mold you into _anything_. We only wish to heal you of the damage inflicted upon you by Thanos. That blue in your head, even now it's trying to tell you one thing, yeah? That Thor is a deceiver or that I've betrayed you, even while reality is telling you something entirely different."

Loki nodded.

"Our only intention is to rid you of that fog to allow you to decide for yourself which is fact. _Nothing_ else. All right?"

Green on blue-shot green remained locked for several long seconds as Loki searched for some semblance of truth in his eyes. Finally, he gave another curt nod and reclined once again on the dais.

"It seems you have some idea of what this energy is," Eir said. "If it is not too bold, may I enquire further clarification? If only to come to a more accurate prognosis."

Harry, Thor, and Frigga exchanged silent looks while Loki continued to stare blankly up at the image projected by the soul forge. None of them could find any reason to keep the basics of the situation from the healer, not if it would help further Loki's recovery.

"Loki was found and tortured by an enemy of Asgard after his supposed death," Thor explained. "He used both physical pain and the pain of his own magic being turned against him to twist his mind and turn his memories against us."

Eir hummed thoughtfully. "There is not much I can do for him," she decided after several moment's thought. "Afflictions of the mind, especially regarding the tampering of memories, need only time to heal."

"So we're meant to just wait it out?" Thor frowned.

"To an extent. It is as this young man said, the prince must be given time to decide for himself which memories are true and which are false. This is not something that can be healed with a few salves and a lengthy stay in the healing halls. He needs only the support of his family."

"And he will have it," Thor proclaimed.

"We'll have to arrange a proper place for you to stay, Haraldr," Frigga said. "We have more than enough space here in the palace. I will send a servant to prepare a room for you."

"No," Loki said sharply. "He remains with me."

Frigga didn't even hesitate before agreeing. "That can be arranged. Your suite has several chambers that have mostly gone without use, it would be no issue converting one into a proper bedroom."

"Shall I send for someone?" Eir inquired, then gracefully bowed from the room when she received confirmation.

As they waited for Harry's rooms to be prepared, conversation turned to his presence on Asgard.

"Odin was predictably…displeased by both your existence and the fact that we all kept it a secret from him for varying degrees of time," the queen informed them. "However, you have my word that he will not make any attempts to remove Haraldr from your care, Loki. He will not lay a hand on any more of your children and I intend to have a lengthy conversation with him regarding his past actions."

"I'm afraid that conversation may be several hundred years too late," Loki said stiffly.

"Perhaps. But that will not stop me from doing everything in my power _now_ to rectify it. What was done to you was despicable and cruel in every sense of the words, and while I may not have had a hand in making the decision to take your children from you or played any part in the actual acts, I stood by and said nothing as it happened. Which makes me just as guilty. I will spend the rest of my life attempting to atone."

"_Perhaps it was what you didn't do_," Thor said solemnly. "That is what you told me that day among the roots of Yggdrasil when I asked why you mistrusted me so. I did not understand then, but I am beginning to now. I know it will be some time before you even begin to trust the sincerity behind my words, but I am truly sorry, Loki. It should not have taken all of this," he gestured to his brother's pale form huddled on the dais, "for me to realize that my keeping silent regarding the actions taken against you and your children only did more harm than good."

Loki shook his head, looking pained and lost. "I don't…This is too much."

"I recommend a deep healing sleep," Eir said, breezing silently into the room. "You've endured a great deal of physical and mental strain. I have an elixir that would aid your sleep."

Loki looked uncertainly to Harry, who immediately caught on to the reason behind his hesitance. "I'll be fine," he reassured. "I won't venture far. Promise." He traced an 'X' over the left side of his chest, Loki slowly mimicked the gesture then nodded his consent to Eir.

"Take it only after you've settled in your quarters," the healer instructed. "It will have you asleep in a matter of seconds and you likely won't wake for several days, so you best be comfortable."

After receiving several more instructions regarding the elixir and then receiving the elixir itself, Harry, Loki, Frigga, and Thor took their leave and made their way up to Loki's chambers. The servants had worked their metaphorical magic and completely transformed the room directly connected to Loki's own into a bedroom for Harry; it had been fit with a full sized bed drowning in over-stuffed pillows and ridiculously soft furs, several impressively sized armoires, and several intimidatingly cushioned armchairs gathered around an arching fireplace.

"It's not much, I know," Frigga said apologetically, "but this was the best they could do last minute. If you find yourself in need of anything during your stay here, let any of the workers here know and they'll get it for you immediately.

"I was also considering bringing a tailor around, to have you fit for a few things. We wouldn't be able to introduce you as a prince of Asgard until we all sat down and discussed where we wish to go from here as a family, but there's no reason you shouldn't be outfitted in the garbs of a proper prince."

"You would introduce me as a prince of Asgard?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Legitimate or not, you are my grandson, I will introduce you as nothing less than the prince you are."

Harry blinked rapidly a few times, the shifting of furniture must have kicked up a bit of dust. "Thank you."

"Do not thank me. This should have been done in the very beginning. We'll have to keep your identity secret from the majority of our people for a while longer, only until we're sure neither you nor your father are in any danger from Thanos, but perhaps you could be introduced to a trusted few."

"My friends would be delighted to meet you," Thor agreed.

"Do you mean Lady Sif and the Warriors Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg?" Harry asked, perking up immediately.

Thor started in surprise. "You know of them?"

"Dad's told me everything about them. I'd love to meet them. Maybe we could arrange something when Dad is feeling a little better?" Harry glanced in the direction of the adjoining bedroom, he'd coaxed his father into drinking the elixir the moment they'd entered the room and, just as Lady Eir had said, he was asleep in a matter of seconds.

"We'll allow you to get some rest in the meantime," Frigga said. "It's been a long day, has it not?"

"It's been a long _year_," Harry sighed.

"Sleep then, regain your energy. I will return in the morning."

Harry bid his grandmother and uncle a good night and walked them to the door. He waited until several minutes had passed before donning a disillusionment spell and slipping out into the hall, through the castle's winding corridors, and back out onto the grounds. Fenris was still hidden beneath his own spell exactly where Harry had left him.

"Everything went well then?" he brother queried.

"It went about as well as could be expected. Dad's receiving proper care rather than being tossed into some dark pit, Odin wasn't pleased but Thor and Frigga are firmly in our corner."

"So there is no need to eat anyone."

"Not today," Harry laughed at the faint disappointment in his brother's voice. "But don't give up hope just yet, we've still got to find this Thanos guy; if you still feel so inclined, you have my full permission to take a bite out of him."

"He would not taste good," Fenris scoffed. "Like tar or ash."

"What a waste. Do you still intend on camping out in the forest?"

Fenris tossed his head in a gesture resembling a nod.

"All right, that spell shouldn't wear out for another half hour or so, but tread careful just in case. I'll come to visit and bring you an update on Dad's conditions in a few days."

The man-wolf grunted as he looked up at the enormous, golden palace. "I am not the only one who needs to tread carefully, little Midgardian brother. Stay safe."

"Usually this would be the time where I'd say something cheeky and shoot you an overconfident grin," Harry sighed, "but after the day I've had, I don't even have that in me. I'll do what I can, but…no promises will be made. Goodnight, Fen."

* * *

The conversation with his brother didn't, unfortunately, signify the end of his night; after returning to his bedroom and checking in on his father one last time, Harry stationed himself in one of the overstuffed chairs set beside the empty fireplace and drew his two way mirror.

"Hermione Granger," he murmured to his reflection and watched as it warped and whirled until it was replaced by his best female friend's relieved grin.

"They work!" Hermione exclaimed, as a sigh of relief slipped past her lips. "I was worried the enchantments weren't strong enough to allow for communication between realms, but it's coming through clearly. I am coming through clearly, right?"

"Clear as crystal," Harry confirmed.

"Oh, wait until I tell the others, they'll be so pleased."

"That's actually why I called you, could you, Ron, Nev, and Blaise call me on the mirror in the study? I want to tell you about how everything went before I head to sleep."

"Give me five minutes."

Exactly five minutes later, Ron, Hermione, Blaise, and Neville were gathered around the study's two way mirror and greeting Harry with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

"The fact that you're able to talk to us right now means you haven't been locked up by your grandfather, yet at least," Ron observed. "So I can only assume you had a good day."

"I don't think I'd use the word _good_," Harry said, "maybe something like productive. I talked to Odin."

"And…?"

"Well, I yelled at him, maybe implied that he was an outdated fool." Harry ignored his friends' groans of exasperation. "But, with the help of Uncle Thor and my grandmother, I managed to convince him that Dad is just as much a victim in this whole fiasco as anyone else. We took him to the healing halls and had him checked over."

"Oh, thank Merlin," Neville sighed. "What did they find? Will he be all right?"

"There were definite signs of torture, but now that he's been removed from the proximity of whatever was influencing him in the first place, he'll start to regain control of his mind. It'll take some time, but he should be fine."

"That's the best news I've heard in a _long_ while," Blaise said. "It's about damn time things started going our way."

Harry snorted in amusement. "I'll say."

"Where will you be staying while your dad recovers?" Hermione queried. "Did they offer you a place to stay at the castle?"

"Yeah, I've been set up in rooms directly next to Dad's, he insisted on it actually. It'll be easier to keep an eye on each other this way."

"_Odin_ offered to allow you to stay in the castle?" Blaise asked incredulously. "Did he even try to take you into custody at all or did he allow you to just waltz in without fear of being carted off?"

"I think he intended to, he looked half a second away from calling the guards to have me chained and shackled, but Uncle Thor stood up for me, as did my grandmother. We had a talk in the healing halls and they really regret what was done to my siblings and that they did nothing to stop it. Frigga especially looks as if she's willing to do anything to make amends. Odin wouldn't dare try anything with me so long as I have them on my side."

Hermione sighed and shook her head, but she looked optimistic. "Let's hope your right. If anything happens to you I'll…I'll…"

"Tear Asgard apart? Burn it to the ground and toss the ashes to the wind? You won't be the only one, it seems."

The thought that those who cared for him were willing to bring death and destruction down on any who dared do him harm was more comforting than it had any right to be.

"And don't you forget," Hermione smiled. "But we'll let you get some sleep, you'll need to be at your best if you intend on making it through these next few weeks."

"Don't I know it," Harry sighed. "

"Good luck and good night," Neville farewelled, then signed off, leaving Harry alone with the silence and his thoughts.

He was on Asgard, he'd met and summarily ripped into his grandfather and his all too bloated ego, all the while proving his father's innocence and firmly rooting both Thor and Frigga in his corner. Loki had been tortured by an insanely powerful being who would more than likely come after him for failing and betraying him, but the future king of Asgard, as well as its current queen, wouldn't allow Thanos to take him without putting up one hell of a fight. There was so much to ponder and process, however, the moment Harry sunk into his bed, his mind shut down, allowing him to fall into an effortlessly deep sleep. Despite the trials he knew he'd be facing the moment he opened his eyes the next morning, Harry slept better than he had in a _long_ time.

* * *

Important. Read below!

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**A/N: I finally got around to doing what I said I'd do for the _longest_ time and edited the earlier chapters of Triumph. The first five chapters have been completely rewritten while the rest have undergone major editing. The basic story remains the same, but several plot holes have been tied off and a few clichés have been tossed. It's not _mandatory_ to read, but I like to think it's a good read so... yeah, read.**


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Loki remembered falling. He remembered how it began as a graceful descent, his back to the abyss and his face to the sky. He remembered how he looked up at Thor's anguished face, how it grew smaller and smaller the further he fell, but how not once did Thor turn away. He remained, calling to him, crying for him, until he was gone, into the void.

And then he was truly falling, head over heels, round and round, until he no longer knew up from down, could no longer discern from where he had come or to where he was going. He fell through galaxies of burnt out stars and barren planets for a fraction of a second and the entirety of an eternity. He had no way of measuring the days and weeks and months that passed between the moment he first fell and the moment a line was cast and he was reeled into the domain of the mad titan like a fat fish to be consumed at that night's supper.

The Other was the one to welcome him, silken tone and honeyed words offering condolences for a loss he never should have known about. But Loki, so lost in his grief and his rage, didn't take even a moment to wonder how this strange being could know of his son and his untimely death. The Other chose everything he said with painstaking care, every word was tailored to stoke Loki's self-righteous fury; they had been meant to build his rage until he was so blinded he would do anything to avenge his son. He had not, however, taken into account the steadfastness with which Loki held on to his late son's ideals. Harry wouldn't have maimed, killed, or terrorized those weaker than him for _anything_, let alone some strange, mystical object his supposed ally still hesitated to tell him about, and so neither would Loki, if only to honor his son's memory.

When the Other realized Loki could not be sweet talked into doing as he bid, he brought in Thanos.

Loki chose to forget the moments that followed, blocking out the hours of relentless torture until they were only one long blur of torn skin and broken bones and clouds of blue that made him forget his own name. Forgetting didn't make things _easier, _but it, at the very least, kept him from going completely insane.

Thanos used the torture to break him and the blue to remold him; the strange magic carefully pieced the shards of his broken psyche into a Loki more willing to comply with his plans of universal domination. Loki 2.0. But there were fissures in the final product, as there always would be, and, as time passed, the glue that held the jagged pieces of him together began to chip away. Simply stepping onto Midgard had been the first blow to the hold the conditioning had over his mind. His son had been raised on this realm, he'd sacrificed his childhood to protect its occupants, did he really want to unleash a race so inherently destructive as the Chitauri upon it?

_Yes, you do_, the blue had said. And so he did.

But as the Chitauri wreaked havoc upon the city, as the mortals ran and screamed and begged for their lives and the team of mismatched heroes fought his army, his resolve wavered and another chip was hammered from his glue. But still he obeyed the blue, he slaughtered all those who stood in his way and he laughed as he did it. But then the Chitauri were dead, the portal was closed and the Tesseract was taken and green eyes were raining fury and grief and so much pain down on him. And just like that, the last of his glue chipped away and Loki was shattered once again. Only now, there was no one to pick up the shards, no one to show him which belonged to him, which were a product of Thanos' cruelty, and where they were all supposed to go. It was now up to him to decide, but he wasn't entirely certain he was up for the task.

The sleeping elixir Lady Eir offered him was accepted with great reluctance but overwhelming gratitude; Loki was loathe to leave his son unattended for any period of time while he was on Asgard, but he knew any amount of sleep would go a long way in helping to clear away some of the blue fogging his mind.

In the end, Harry managed to coax him into accepting the elixir, but only after Loki had strong armed a promise from his son that he wouldn't venture from their chambers without him. Harry had been hesitant to agree, he'd go stir crazy after only a day of being locked up in their suites, but he knew that that promise was the only thing that stood in the way of the start of Loki's recovery. So he agreed, a few days of cabin fever was worth it.

Loki slept for three days, and in those three days he dreamt of broken bridges and throws that may actually have been falls. When he woke, Harry was there to greet him with a cheerful greeting and a recount of all of the texts he'd read from Loki's personal book collection. When he was through speaking, he, Thor, and Frigga escorted Loki to the healing halls, where Lady Eir once again used the soul forge to get an idea of how much of a hold the blue energy had over him.

"You can see that it's already begun to dissipate," she noted. "The energy only has a few footholds left in your mind and magic, the sleep helped tremendously. The next step is to begin deciding what memories are truth and which are fallacy."

"How is he meant to do that?" Thor inquired.

"By establishing new memories and by asking questions regarding the things he does remember. However, when asking questions I would advise you not to immediately count everything you're told as fact, you need to decide for yourself or else we'll be forcing our own brand of conditioning upon you. Start small, little memories your captors wouldn't have thought were of much importance and so didn't feel the need to tamper with, and work your way _slowly_ to the bigger ones.

"I also recommend you attempt to leave your chambers at least once a day; take a walk on the grounds, perhaps go for a ride. It's incredibly important you remain aware that you are no longer in captivity."

"But he's meant to be dead," Harry pointed out. "I think it may cause a bit of a stir if the meant to be deceased prince is seen meandering about the grounds."

"The staff has already been informed of Loki's return," Frigga said. "Though they've been sworn to secrecy. The Allfather intends to officially announce your return sometime in the near future."

"Will he require my presence during this announcement?" Loki inquired stiffly. "I'm not entirely certain I'll be…comfortable in his company at the moment."

"If you think it will prove to be detrimental to your recovery, then your presence won't be required. The Allfather will have to understand," Frigga said firmly.

"That will certainly be a first," Loki snorted. "Shoddy though my memory may be, I get the distinct impression that Odin is not the most _understanding_ of men."

"It's not that he lacks empathy," Frigga tried to explain, "it's just…there are times when he simply doesn't understand your struggle. You and he are so different, you process emotions and the like differently."

"Does it ever get tiring defending a man who doesn't deserve such vehement loyalty?"

"He is deserving," Frigga said sadly. "It may be difficult to see it now, and much of that is his own fault, but Odin cares for you. No matter what he's said in the past, he has always seen you as nothing less than his son, even if you don't share the same blood."

"He has a truly unique way of showing how much he cares." Loki pushed off from the soul forge's dais and rose to his feet. "I no longer wish to discuss this. Are we done here, Lady Eir? I would like to return to my chambers where I may begin the process of sorting out the fallacies in my memory."

Lady Eir hesitated for the briefest of seconds, glancing anxiously between Frigga and Loki before granting him a nod. "Yes, there's nothing else to be accomplished here."

Loki nodded his thanks and swept from the hall without another word, Harry remained close by his side throughout the trek back to their chambers while Frigga and Thor were only a few steps behind.

"I don't particularly need the two of you here," Loki said, nodding to Frigga and Thor once they'd entered their suite, "but you may stay if you wish."

"There's nothing you'd like to ask us regarding your memories?" Thor asked.

Loki shrugged as he settled down in one of the armchairs beside the fireplace, the others hurried to follow suit. "Not at the moment. Right now I only want clarification from my son; when Odin tethered me to the palace, his world was at war, the moment I was granted my freedom I returned to find it at peace once again. I wish to know what happened in my absence."

"I don't recall there being any word of a war on Midgard," Thor noted.

"You wouldn't have," Harry said. "It was very small, the war was among a very inclusive group of people. Most Midgardian's didn't even know they existed."

"But you were a part of it?"

"Right in the center of it, thanks to a prophecy made before I was born. It was led by a madman who assumed the moniker Lord Voldemort, he wished to eradicate those he deemed unworthy from my world and allow only those of noble blood to live."

"But he was defeated," Loki said. "Were you the one to do it? Was the attack on Draco's ancestral home successful?"

"Are you sure _this _is what you want to start with?" Harry frowned. "Lady Eir advised you start with something small. Memories from your childhood and such. A lot happened after you left and none of it is particularly happy."

"I'm sure," Loki said firmly. "You are the one thing I am absolutely certain of, not even Thanos' conditioning was able to twist my memories of you. It is as good a place to start as any."

"All right then," Harry sighed, already dreading the imminent conversation. "Is there anything specific you want to know, or do you just want me to start from when you left?"

"Did we lose anyone in the fight?"

Harry flinched, of course Loki would go for the hardest question first. "Yeah, we did…we lost quite a few actually. You didn't know most of them but there were a few...a few you did. There was Susan Bones, whose aunt was the one to help us free Sirius, and Lavender Brown who had the most terrible crush on Ron, and Luna, she wasn't even supposed to _be_ there." Harry's breath stuttered and his heart suddenly seemed fit to burst from his chest, but he still forced himself to speak. _"Draco._"

"Oh no," Loki whispered.

Harry nodded and blinked heavily several times, refusing to allow even a single tear to well up. Now was not the time. "Yeah, Draco's dead. He died taking a curse for me."

"I saw Neville, he was working to rebuild Hogwarts, I saw him and he was _fine_ so I just assumed everyone else…_What happened?_"

"We waited for you to come back," Harry explained heavily. "We didn't want to attack the manor until you'd returned, so we waited and we lost our element of surprise. Voldemort attacked the castle before we could strike the manor, he and his forces ambushed us in the middle of the night. We were caught off guard, no one was ready, but we fought anyway. I got separated from the others at one point in the fight, but Draco found me and together we were fighting the Death Eaters. But there were so many of them and we were both so tired; one of the Death Eaters cast a spell, it was for me, I _know _it was, but Draco was in the way, it hit him instead. He went down and didn't get back up." Harry huffed in frustration when a tear tried to slip free. "I killed Voldemort an hour later. I killed him for Draco."

Loki rose from his seat and wrapped his arms around Harry, their first true embrace since his return. "I'm so sorry. I should have been there."

"I don't blame you," Harry murmured, melting into his father's arms. "You had no control over it."

"I should have fought harder. Or I never should have left in the first place."

"Hindsight is twenty/twenty, yeah? It took me a long time to start believing it, but Draco's death wasn't my fault and neither was it yours." Harry pulled back far enough to be able to look into his father's eyes. "But I take comfort in the fact that he's feasting in Valhalla now. I met Hela, Dad, she was _beautiful_ and she said that the Valkyrie personally saw him to the gates of Valhalla."

"It is nothing less than he deserves," Loki smiled. "He truly proved himself to be…" Loki trailed off as a frown slowly took over his face. "Hold. Did you say you met Hela?"

Harry winced and scratched sheepishly at the back of his head, part of him had been hoping Loki wouldn't catch what he'd said, but the other part knew he was too astute to miss it. "Yeah…I did say that, didn't I?"

"How is it you were able to meet Hela when there is only one known way to reach her?" Loki asked dangerously.

"That's-uh-that's actually a very funny story."

"I do not believe for a second that it is. _Explain_."

"The night Voldemort tried to kill me and failed, he accidentally tore his soul and it sort of latched onto me. I was an unintentional Horcrux. The only way for Voldemort to be defeated was if that last soul fragment was defeated and the only way I could do that was if I…well, _died._"

Loki's face went stone cold, he took several deep breaths, as if attempting to calm himself, but each breath shuddered with barely controlled rage until his entire body shuddered with the repressed emotion.

"Dad-"

Loki shot to his feet and stalked to the adjoining room, his bedroom; there was one long stretch of silence broken by a terrible crash, then another, and another.

Harry didn't even flinch at the sounds of anger coming from the other room, but Thor and Frigga frowned in concern.

"He'll work through it in a moment," Harry sighed. "He never responded very well to tales of my near death experiences."

"I don't understand," Thor said. "What is the significance of this Horcrux you spoke of and why did it lead to you nearly dying?"

"That's sort of a long story," Harry said, only to sigh again when his words were heralded by an almighty crash from the next room. "But I suppose we have time for the abridged version. On Midgard, there exists a community of people who possess the ability to wield magic, or Seidr; I once belonged to this community, as did Voldemort.

"There weren't a lot of us, we made up barely a fraction of Midgard's population and we very rarely interacted with those who weren't able to use Seidr, most of them didn't even know we existed. However, Voldemort wanted to be even _more_ inclusive, he wanted only those of worthy blood to be allowed to practice magic.

"In his earlier years, Voldemort was very handsome and very charming, he had no trouble amassing followers. For a time, it seemed as if he was actually going to get his way, he'd grown to be so powerful…but then there was a prophecy. The prophecy foresaw Voldemort's downfall and the person who would bring it about: me. I was only a baby at the time, but that didn't stop Voldemort from killing my mother and her husband and attempting to kill me, however, due to what I can only assume to be my Asgardian heritage, he failed and wound up dying himself. And, for a time, we thought that was the end of it. But then, only a few years ago, we discovered Voldemort, who had been terrified of death and dying, had split his soul into several tiny pieces, stored them away in various different objects, and hid them where he'd hoped no one would ever find them. Those soul fragments were called Horcruxes and as long as they existed, Voldemort's mortal form could be destroyed but his soul would remain. He was all but immortal. And so eventually he returned, more powerful than ever and mad as hell. He started the war and thrust me right in the middle of it.

"I spent a large part of last year hunting down his Horcruxes and destroying them so that I might make him mortal. It was only after I'd destroyed nearly all of them that I was informed that there was one more Horcrux than I'd previously been led to believe. The night Voldemort attempted to kill me, he'd unknowingly torn another bit of his soul, when he 'died' that fragment latched onto me; I was the last Horcrux, so long as it existed, Voldemort could come back. So I let myself die so that Voldemort could be defeated once and for all."

"You are a truly brave warrior." Thor granted Harry a gentle, slightly impressed smile. "I am honored to call you family."

"Do not _encourage _him." Loki appeared in the doorway, his slightly askew hair was the only remainder of his loss of temper. Well, that and his ice cold tone. "This Horcrux is gone?" he asked Harry. "Hela confirmed it?"

"I didn't see the soul with my own two eyes, but Hela said the killing curse was more than capable of killing it off." Harry shrugged. "It was only the fragment of a mortal soul after all."

"I would have you see Lady Eir anyway, to ensure no trace of that foul thing lingers."

"I think I would know if any bit of it remained."

"You spent seventeen years not knowing it existed in the first place, you had to be told about it," Loki pointed out. "How is now any different?"

"It just _is_, okay? I promise, I'm fine, Dad. The Horcrux didn't leave any negative side effects."

"You should not be so dismissive of it," Loki sighed, but Harry could hear the concession in his voice. He would no longer press the matter. "Please continue where you left off. What happened after your…death?"

"I came back, I killed Voldemort, I buried Draco, then I went looking for you."

"But you found the Jotuns instead."

Harry winced and nodded. "Yeah, Hela was the one to tell me about the portal that would take me between worlds, but she failed to mention the wrinkle that wound up booting me to Jotunheim," he said. "I was found by two of the giants and taken to Laufey. I didn't think it'd be wise to tell him I was Midgardian, or that I was the son of an Asgardian prince, so I told him I was Vanir. He didn't believe me and I was put in a cell below the palace. I remained there until the sky broke apart and tore a chunk from my prison."

"I did that?" Loki whispered, the perfect picture of remorse.

"Yes, it was the Bifrost destroying Jotunheim," Harry said gently. "I didn't know what it meant then, but I knew something bad had to be happening on Asgard."

"It was Laufey." Loki frowned as he slowly sorted through his jumbled memories to recall the exact events leading up to his temporary demise. "After I spoke to Neville and discovered you were missing, I followed the path you'd taken and allowed the portal to eject me where it did you, on Jotunheim. I met with Laufey and he hinted that he had taken a trespasser prisoner; I could feel your magic in the place, it was faded but _there_, that's how I knew it was you he had. I concocted that fool's plan, allowed him onto Asgard and into Odin's chambers in hopes that I could catch him off guard and force him into a position where he would have to agree to returning you to me. But he tricked me, he told me he'd killed you and I just…I saw _red_. I killed him and then I tried to use the Bifrost to destroy Jotunheim, but then Thor was there and we were fighting. He was begging me to stop but I wouldn't so he destroyed the bridge and I...fell. I _let go_."

"And then you met Thanos," Harry whispered.

Loki nodded. "And then I met Thanos."

"And I met Frigga and spent the next few months living with the belief that I had, however inadvertently, caused your death."

"You are the _last_ person I'd blame for what happened to me," Loki said firmly. "Laufey is to blame. Odin. _Me_. Not you. Never you. You were the only one who to see past façade I'd put up to hide Thanos' conditioning. You _saw_ and you saved me."

Harry laughed weakly. "Well, I did hit you over the head with a pipe first."

"And it was a _mighty _swing and just the slightest bit deserved."

"Only the slightest," Harry conceded.

"This is good!" Thor beamed. "We are making progress."

Loki snorted at the man's boundless optimism and good cheer, but made no move to correct him.

"I think we've covered enough memories for the day," Harry said. "Should we try and take Lady Eir's second piece of advice and try for a walk around the grounds? Or maybe you could give me a tour of the palace?"

"My return has not yet been officially announced nor have you been introduced to the court," Loki frowned, "that may not yet be wise."

"If we do not venture from these top floors, it's very unlikely we'll see anyone but a few servants and the rare guardsmen," Thor pointed out.

"It'll be good to get out of this room, Dad, I've been here since we first got here and you _know_ how hard it is for me to stay in one place for more than a few hours."

Loki raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You don't honestly expect me to believe you didn't break your promise to go off and do some exploring of your own."

Harry gasped in mock offense. "I'll have you know I only left my room _once_ while you slept, and that was for a completely valid and incredibly important matter which I will not be sharing with you at this moment. Now come, we're going for a walk."

Loki attempted to protest, wanting to know what his son had got up to while he'd been asleep, but Harry shot him such a look of overwhelming eagerness, he couldn't find it in himself to turn him down.

"Very well," he groaned.

"You gentlemen go on without me," Frigga said, rising from her seat. "I have a few matters I need to attend to, but I'll be sure to catch up with you."

"Knowing my brother and, assuming my nephew took after him, you'll likely find us in the library."

Thor's jest proved to be all too accurate, after wandering the halls for a little more than a half an hour, the trio adjourned to the enormous library where Harry gleefully traversed its aisles; he pulled every tome that caught his fancy from its shelf until he had a stack that stood nearly as tall as him.

"You are much like your father," Thor grinned when he caught sight of his nephew. "Always among the books."

"I like to fight every now and then," Harry admitted. "Dad taught me a thing or two about sparring."

Thor looked delighted by this revelation. "Truly? We must test your might one day." He exclaimed before chancing a tentative look in a silent Loki's direction. "Only if it is all right with you, brother."

The slight crease in Loki's brow was the only sign of his inner turmoil; the thought of massive Thor coming after his son, even in a mock spar, had the remainder of his conditioning igniting a spark of protective rage in his gut. But a large part of him was beginning to understand that Thor could be trusted. Since seeing him for the first time again on that cliffside, Thor had shown him nothing but the brotherly love his conditioning had insisted had never existed between them.

"I've been teaching Haraldr to fight with both his body and magic for years," he finally said, none of his mental hesitation present in his voice, "it would be no fight. You would be down in a matter of seconds."

"Is that so?" Thor laughed. "Does he speak the truth, nephew?"

Harry shrugged. "I have become pretty handy with a dagger, killed a few frost giants with it."

"You sorcerers and your knives!"

"The might of a man is not measured by the size of his weapon…" Harry recited.

"…but by the force behind its blow," Thor finished. "Yes, so Loki's said. Will we be sparring then? I have a demonstration on the training grounds in an hour's time, after which the trainees will depart for the night and we will have the grounds all too ourselves."'

Harry looked to Loki who nodded his acquiescence. "All right, yeah, let's spar."

Loki's magic was still recovering from the damage the blue energy had done to it, so Harry was the one to cloak Loki and himself in several glamour spells to transform them into the typical palace guard as well as a mild notice-me-not to keep the palace inhabitants' attention away from the two of them as they accompanied Thor out to the sparring grounds.

Father and son situated themselves on the outskirts of the group gathered to watch Thor punch his way through a line of warriors in training. A majority of the aspiring soldiers were fairly well trained and moderately talented, but none of them had seen real battle and it was obvious in the way they fought.

"They're trying to fight fair," Harry observed as the dozenth trainee was put down with relative ease. "None of them are trying to go in for the kill and it's making them predictable."

"Fortunately, you're not so naïve. Many a sparring session with me and even more battles with those Death Eaters beat that habit out of you."

Harry hummed in agreement and watched as the last trainee approached his uncle; this one lasted longer than any of the others, a whopping two minutes, before he was tripped up by a bit of fancy footwork on Thor's part. The defeated warrior's compatriots gave him a rousing cheer anyway before they slowly began filing away, most of them intent on grabbing a quick drink before heading home. Eventually only four warriors remained, none of whom seemed particularly interested in leaving anytime soon as they were engaged in a lively discussion with Thor.

"Your sparring session may have to wait for another day," Loki sighed. "Thor has been distracted by his good friends, he'll be heading off to go in search of some ale and a fair woman's company now and forget all about us."

Harry narrowed shrewd eyes at his father. "Is that you speaking, or the conditioning?"

When Loki didn't have an answer for him, he put to fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle, immediately drawing the attention of the five warriors. Thor said something to his companions, inaudible due to the distance between them, before hurrying over to Harry and Loki.

"Apologies, brother, nephew, I was not expecting my friend's to be attending tonight's demonstration. They often lament the fact that watching me defeat the guards in training so easily grows wearing after a few turns. I can send them away and we will have our fight."

"Or you could introduce us."

"Haraldr," Loki said warningly.

"Grandmother said it would be all right to introduce me to a trusted few!" Harry protested. "Aside from your own family, is there anyone you trust more than those four over there, Uncle Thor?"

Loki shot his brother a look, warning him not to fall into Harry's trap, but the thunder god had never been subjected to those bright green eyes when they were at full strength and so caved almost immediately. "No, there isn't."

Loki groaned in frustration. "Fine, Haraldr," he said, "but if things do not go as you'd imagined, know that I was against this from the very start. They were never my friend's, they tolerated me only because I was their prince and Thor's brother."

"I highly doubt that. It's impossible for anyone to know you, _really_ know you, and not like you, Dad."

"You wish to meet them?" Thor asked hopefully. "Truly?"

"You can introduce us and then they can watch as your nephew destroys you in a sparring match."

Thor threw back his head and bellowed an enormous laugh, then turned to wave his patiently waiting friends over.

"Have you found a few new sparring partners?" a rotund redheaded man, Volstagg, queried when he and his companions reached the group of three.

"I have," Thor nodded. "Harald has agreed to spar with me."

"I expect this fight to end a bit differently from those…tussles we witnessed earlier," Harry said. "Most notably in that _I_ won't be the one who winds up on the ground."

A handsome golden haired man, Fandral, laughed heartily. "I like this one, where did you find him?"

"Midgard, actually."

Thor's final two companions, a dark haired pair who could only be Lady Sif and Hogun, exchanged a glance. "Midgard?"

"You allowed a Midgardian onto Asgard?"

"Aye, it's quite the story, but it comes with glad tidings." Thor grinned. "My brother has returned."

Loki inclined his head in a half-hearted greeting. "_Friends_," he said, just the slightest bit derisively.

"Thor…" Sif said gently. "My friend, may I speak with you? _Alone_."

Thor realized the cause behind his friends' hesitation almost immediately and so turned to Harry. "Haraldr, would you please…?"

Harry obligingly dropped the glamour cloaking his father's features, though his own remained firmly in place.

"Gods…Loki!" Fandral exclaimed. "Where have you…how long have you been hidden beneath that disguise?"

"Were you ever really dead?" Sif questioned flatly.

"No, I wasn't."

"But our misunderstanding was of no fault of his," Thor added before Sif could draw the wrong conclusion.

"Would you mind explaining?" Volstagg requested. "I'm just the slightest bit lost."

"That is a long tale," Loki frowned, "one I don't particularly feel like recounting at the moment, if that's all right with you."

Volstagg frowned for only a second before acquiescing. "Of course. Would you at least be willing to introduce us to your Midgardian friend?"

Loki heaved a heavy sigh, but nodded in agreement. "He is Haraldr, my son."

Harry finally dropped his glamour, then raised his hand in greeting. "Hello."

"You're jesting," Hogun said weakly.

"Not in the slightest."

"There's two of them," Sif bemoaned. "We could barely handle the one."

"Is the Allfather aware?" Fandral asked.

"He was among the first to be informed," Thor said evasively.

"And he had nothing to say about it?"

Thor's expression went suddenly and uncharacteristically cold. "He had plenty to say about it, I'm sure. But he is also well aware that, if he were to so much as think of taking Haraldr from his father, he would be facing retribution from all sides. Will that be an issue?"

"I…well, _of course not_. It is a pleasure and honor to meet you, Haraldr was it?"

"Likewise, Sir Fandral."

"Are you truly from Midgard?"

"I am," Harry nodded. "My father thought it would be best to raise me away from Asgard…for obvious reasons."

Sif started in surprise. "Loki raised you himself?"

"Why so surprised?" Loki said with a sarcastic quirk of his brow.

"I can't see you caring for a child, is all," the shield maiden shrugged. "It does not seem to be in your nature."

"He's a great father," Harry said, tone brooking no room for argument. "One of the best. Especially when compared to…others."

"Others who shall not be named," Thor cut in firmly. "Now, we came here to spar. Shall we, Haraldr?"

"You intend to spar with your Midgardian nephew?" Volstagg exclaimed incredulously.

"My mother was Midgardian, but my father is, quite obviously, not. I am just as much of Asgard as I am of Midgard," Harry corrected. "And, as I said before, I don't intend for this fight to end as all of those others did." He shed his cloak and stepped confidently into the sparring ring. "What are the rules of engagement?"

"We'll keep it simple since this is your first time in the ring," Thor said. "If you fall and are unable to rise after five seconds, the match ends. If you grow to be too tired or find yourself incapable of continuing, simply say so and we may stop."

"I have been fighting since I was young," Harry reminded his overconfident uncle.

"As have I. But I am _much _older than you."

"You are, aren't you?" Harry agreed. "Several centuries older than me as a matter of fact, which puts you at risk of creaky, uncooperative joints, _old man_. You can still back out, I won't think any less of you if you do. I'd hate for you to pop a joint out of place or, you know, die from heart failure, we've only just met after all."

"Oh, I'm very sure," Thor laughed. "Come, Silvertongue the smaller, let us fight."

"As you wish."

Harry gave a sharp flick to his wand and sent a coil of rope winding around his uncle's legs, a single tug had Thor careening backward, but before he could hit the ground, he hurled his hammer in Harry's direction. The teen severed his connection with the rope and made to leap over Mjolnir, however, his jump had been timed a second too late and it managed to clip the top of his foot; the hammer was so heavy and there had been such force behind it, that one glancing blow knocked his feet from under him midair, earning him a faceful of dirt.

Harry forced himself to remain flattened on the ground for a second longer than he usually would have, allowing Mjolnir to fly over his head and back into his owner's hand before kicking back into a standing position. Unfortunately, Thor had managed to rise quicker and used his advantage to cover the distance between them; the Asgardian strength Harry should have inherited from Loki had been watered down by Lily's Midgardian blood, but it was still enough that, when Harry blocked the blow aimed at his head with both forearms, it was merely bone rattling rather than bone shattering. He wrapped one hand around Thor's massive wrist and used the other to jab his dagger in the direction of his exposed ribs. The sharp point of the blade only just managed to pierce his armor before he batted it away; the dagger clattered to the ground, but Harry summoned it immediately and used it to slash at Thor's exposed bicep.

"First blood to Silvertongue the younger!" Volstagg exclaimed excitedly.

Thor attempted to use their close proximity to drive a knee into Harry's stomach, but his aim was too low, allowing his nephew to use the knee as a springboard to launch himself into a backward roll in which, at the very last moment, his foot lashed out to clip the underside of the thunder god's chin. Harry landed in a neat crouch whilst Thor, once again, found himself looking up at the sky.

"You're quite good at this," he laughed as he pushed himself up.

Harry shrugged and offered a cheeky grin. "I learned from the best."

"That's odd, I don't recall taking any pupils."

Thor surprised Harry by launching himself at him with absolutely no warning, they collided with a dull _thud_ and began rolling around on the ground in a primal, graceless wrestling match that ended when Harry was caught in a headlock.

"Do you yield?"

"Of course not. _Relashio._" To Harry's surprise, the spell that he'd used against Loki several times to great effect, barely loosened Thor's hold on him. He didn't allow himself to dwell on the oddity, however, if he lost focus for even a second he'd lose the fight, so instead, he summoned his dagger from where it lay sadly in the dirt and wedged it in the crook of Thor's elbow, forcing him to loosen his hold or else sever a vein. That was all Harry needed to squirm free, but as he attempted to scramble to his feet, Thor knocked him back onto his stomach before placing what could only be Mjolnir at the small of his back.

"Do you yield _now?_"

Harry shot a blasting charm over his shoulder that, frustratingly, only managed to knock Thor back a few steps, fortunately, the next spell had him back in the dirt, trussed up from ankle to shoulder in magically reinforced ropes.

"Do you?"

Thor squirmed about in his ropes for several seconds, trying to break himself free, but once he realized there was no breaking free, he flopped back and let out a burst of laughter.

"Well done, nephew. Shall we call it a draw?"

"Just this once," Harry conceded.

Harry banished the ropes from around Thor who immediately called Mjolnir back to him.

"For a hammer forged from a dying star, that thing is surprisingly light," Harry said, stretching out his back.

"Try actually lifting the thing," Fandral laughed.

"I'll pass, I've heard plenty a tale of picky hammers who only choose those who are worthy."

"I don't see why you wouldn't be worthy," Loki protested.

"That's because you're horribly biased, Dad."

"Yes, well either way, you fought admirably. Well done." His tone was calm, but Harry could see the way Loki's lips were still reddened from where he'd been biting into them in worry and how a barely visible green energy sparked at his fingertips; he'd likely spent the entire fight on edge, prepared to step in the moment something went wrong and Thor went from mock sparring to actively trying to kill him.

Harry placed a hand on his father's arm and offered him a small smile meant to assure him he was all right. "A draw isn't half bad for my first fight with an Asgardian of Uncle Thor's size." He honestly hadn't expected to last as long as he did against his uncle, nor did he actually think, despite all of his grandstanding, that he would come out of this fight without a loss on his record. He was, however, unusually fatigued after the fairly short fight, he'd only cast a handful of spells and the amount of physical fighting he'd done wasn't anything more than he'd done during a normal day of training with the Order, and yet he felt as if he'd just fought a lengthy battle against multiple opponents. Spending long days holed up in his and Loki's chambers, eating all of the succulent meals the servants brought for him must be making him soft.

"I say we adjourn to the dining halls," Volstagg proclaimed, "where we may feast and drink and learn more about your son, my friend."

"Perhaps another day, _my friend_," Loki replied delicately. "It's been a trying day and there are still several more to come before I may engage in revelries."

"You'll be returning to your chambers then?" Thor asked, looking more than a bit disappointed. "Would you like me to accompany you?"

Harry glanced over at his father, he was retaining his mask of collected calm admirably, but the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the pinched tightness with which he held his lips betrayed his exhaustion. Perhaps they had done too much for his first day out and about?

"That's all right, we know our way just fine," he told his uncle. "But I anticipate we'll be seeing you in the morning."

Thor nodded his agreement immediately. "As soon as the sun has risen, so shall I."

"Lies," Loki said, though there was an almost _teasing _tilt to his lips. "You've never once risen with the sun, I doubt you will begin now."

Harry and Loki said their goodnights and took their leave amidst Thor's protests that, as one of Asgard's finest warriors, he had the mental discipline to rise with or without the sun present. Just Loki wait and see, he'd be in for a surprise tomorrow.

They made it to their suite without any trouble where they settled down beside the empty grate to enjoy the meal the servants had brought up.

"Today was a good day," Harry murmured, content in the calm quite that blanketed their room.

Loki gifted him a small, tired smile as he leaned back in his seat. "Yes, it was."

* * *

"The Allfather wishes to speak with you."

Harry let out a quiet huff, only barely managing to suppress a groan of frustration; it had been almost a fortnight since his arrival and he hadn't seen or spoken with Odin since that night. He'd known it was really only a matter of time before his luck ran out and he was forced to stand face to face with his grandfather again, but he'd hoped it would be after Loki had had a bit longer to piece himself back together.

His father had made incredible progress these past few weeks, he'd managed to successfully sort through what memories were true and which had been implanted by Thanos, his relationship with Frigga was still the slightest bit stilted but he was nearly back to normal when around Thor. However, there were still nights were he woke screaming of lying Jotuns and men with purple skin and days where he couldn't bear to drag himself out of bed because his _bones_ ached with remembered pains of the torture inflicted upon him.

But it seemed Odin waited for no man.

Harry heaved another sigh and looked up at Thor, the harbinger of today's bad news. "When does he wish to see me?"

"Tonight, after we've eaten. But it won't be you alone, he wishes to speak with us all, a family assembly so to speak."

Despite how little Harry was looking forward to this meeting, just the sound of it, a _family_ meeting, sent a little thrill down his spine. He'd wanted to be considered a part of this particular family for so long, and now here he was, about to meet with the grandfather he'd so casually told off in a meeting that just might end with him being exiled to some dark and dusty corner of the universe. Dreams really do come true.

"Dad's been in his study all morning," Harry said, nodding toward the cracked door. Loki could only just be seen sitting behind his desk, dark head bent over a ridiculously large tome. "I'll let him know in a bit. The news is sure to put him in a foul mood, so I'll let him have another hour or so of peace."

"You don't think he'll take it well?"

Harry shrugged. "Out of all of us, the memories Dad had of Odin were the least warped only because he'd done so much wrong to him Thanos didn't feel they needed much tampering to fully turn Dad against him. All of that anger and hatred Dad had directed toward the Allfather the day of his return, that wasn't Thanos, that was _his_. These two weeks of recovery have done nothing to change that."

Thor seemed displeased with Harry's candid answer, but nodded his understanding before departing. Harry allowed Loki another hour's peace before joining him in his study to break the news to him.

"Odin requested an audience with us later on this evening."

Loki snorted inelegantly and turned the next page of his book with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. "Did he now? I hope he doesn't truly expect us to show up."

"Well, if you chose not to heed his request, there isn't really much he could say or do about it. Odin knows you're still recovering, he also knows that, due to his own actions, seeing him may be detrimental to said recovery, he'll refrain from reacting to your absence if only to avoid a telling off from Grandmother. However, I intend to answer his summons."

"Most certainly not," Loki frowned. "There is no way I would allow you anywhere near that man, especially unattended."

"I won't be unattended, Grandmother will be there."

Loki leveled his son with a look of utter disbelief. "Do you honestly think I would trust her with your well-being?"

Aside from Odin, Frigga was the one Loki found himself having the most trouble forgiving. While she and Thor were similar in the fact that they were guilty of only one crime, keeping their silence in regards to the fate of his children, he found her silence alone to be inexcusable. It was well known throughout Asgard and even a few of the other realms, that Frigga was the only one capable of dissuading the Allfather from certain decisions when he was feeling at his most obstinate. If anyone was able to talk him out of exiling Loki's children, it would have been her, but she hadn't, and so Fenris, Jormungandr, Hela, Sleipnir, and even Harry had paid the price. It was that fact alone that had Loki wary of entrusting his son's safety with her.

Frigga, having recognized the reason behind Loki's distrust of her from the very first day, had been doing everything in her power to gain back even an ounce of the trust he had once so easily instilled in her, but it would be a long time before he was comfortable with leaving his youngest under her protection.

"Uncle Thor will be there as well," Harry added hopefully.

As Loki finally began shaking off the effects of the blue energy, the two brothers had begun making moves to mend their fractured relationship. With Thanos' conditioning no longer influencing his thoughts, Loki was able to reconcile with the fact that, other than not speaking up when he was needed most and the occasional moments of arrogance, Thor had never done him wrong. He, above all others had loved him unconditionally; even back on Midgard, when he was suffering from the delusions wrought by Thanos, Thor had begged him to return home, no matter what sins he may have committed. And when Thor had sworn to keep Harry safe from Odin, he kept his promise, going so far as to stand between Odin's trusted weapon, Gungnir, and Harry and Loki.

If anyone was to be entrusted with Harry's safety, it would be Thor. Loki, however, still hesitated. "Did Odin say what it was he wished to speak with us about?"

Harry shrugged. "No, but I'm sure I can make a few guesses."

"I suppose it would be foolish to hope I could persuade you to find something that's much less likely to end in disaster to do with your evening."

Harry shrugged apologetically. "It would be unwise if neither of us were to show up, we've got to at least try and smooth things over with Odin if we intend to remain here for an indefinite amount of time."

Loki heaved a weary sigh and sank back in his seat. "All right, fine. When does he want us?"

* * *

The dysfunctional family of five met in a private, study-like room only a few corridors down from Harry and Loki's chambers. Frigga and Odin had been the first to arrive, followed by Thor, with Loki and Harry showing up nearly half an hour after. Loki had been struck with a sudden bout of pettiness just before the scheduled meeting time and so had dragged his feet all the way to their designated meeting spot, when he was faced with, Frigga's quiet disapproval, he showed absolutely no signs of remorse for his tardiness.

"Against my better judgment, I am here," Loki said loftily as he settled himself in the second furthest seat from Odin, the furthest seat going to Harry at his father's insistence. "But you won't have long before I find something far more worthwhile to do with my time, so speak quickly."

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation, but Odin's face remained carefully neutral. "This family is broken," he announced evenly, "and I am not so foolish as to believe that I am not largely to blame for it."

The candid statement had Harry cocking his head in curiosity, this wasn't at all how he'd imagined this conversation would go.

Odin cleared his throat, looking the slightest bit uncomfortable by his admission. "I have been insensitive and cruel in my attempts to keep my realm safe, especially in regards to how I've treated you, Loki. I see now that I could have dealt with the threat your children may or may not have posed in a different manner, one more sensitive to both their and your needs; I should not have acted so hastily or so callously and for that I apologize."

There was a moment of silence were Loki only stared at Odin with an unreadable expression in his sharp gaze, however, he gave a small start when Harry subtly nudged him with his foot. "I'm sorry, was that it? That's what you pulled me away from my studies for? If so, I'll just…." Loki made to rise from his seat, but paused when Odin sighed wearily.

"Loki," he said, sounding every second of his several thousand years, "this animosity between us, it cannot continue."

"Why ever not? I'm quite content wallowing in my hatred of you."

"You don't mean that," Odin protested.

"Oh, but I do," Loki responded immediately. "And why shouldn't I? You've caused me nothing but misery my entire life."

"Your _entire life?_ Can you not recall any of the moments where I spent hours regaling you with tales of our ancestors, where I turned a blind eye to the mischief you were wreaking in the castle, where I encouraged you to follow the path you felt most comfortable with, whether it be that of a warrior or a sorcerer?"

"Of course I can," Loki said dismissively, "but any fond memories I may hold of you are tainted by the reminder that you stole me from my homelands, raised me to be another pawn in your perpetual war against the Jotuns, and denied me the knowledge of my true heritage."

"I did it to protect you! I carried the burden of that secret to protect you from the knowledge that you'd been abandoned by your birth father when you were just a babe."

"No, you did it to protect yourself. You kept that secret because it made it easier to convince yourself that your actions were justified when there was no one to tell you otherwise."

"Were they not justified?" Odin queried. "If I had not taken you that night, you would have died."

"Then you should have left me to die."

Odin's eyes widened in shock and he slowly shook his head. "You cannot mean that," he whispered.

"Don't I?" Loki's gaze was hard as diamonds and his jaw was set with a determined confidence, but there was the faintest hint of something broken in his otherwise steady voice. "Do you have any idea how much anguish you have caused me? Do you know the amount of times I wished I could die, the amount of times I _tried _to die because of you? You tore my children from my arms, cast them from our home due to some prophecy none of us even knew would truly come to pass. I haven't seen them in _centuries_, I have no idea what they look like, what sort of beings they've grown to be, what they even think of me, the father who failed them. I was robbed of the chance to watch them grow, to raise them and love them as you were given the chance to. You could never even imagine what such a feeling is like, knowing you've missed every important moment of your child's life.

"So when I say that at times I wonder if it wouldn't have been better if you'd left me on Jotunheim, I _do_ mean it. There is only one reason I'm grateful you chose not to and I spent his entire life terrified you would take him from me."

"What if I could make it right?" Odin asked, oddly subdued. "What if I said I would release them from their captivity and end their banishment?"

Loki went suddenly and completely still while Harry only just refrained from allowing his jaw to drop in astonishment. "You would do that?" the older man queried softly.

Odin nodded once. "I would."

Loki still didn't seem entirely convinced. "If this is your idea of a joke…"

"It's not. Sleipnir will be relieved of his duties and allowed free from his stables by the time our meeting has concluded, and I will find some way to inform the others that their banishment has ended and they are free to return to Asgard."

"What of Ragnarok?" Loki challenged. "Are you no longer worried they will bring about the end of days?"

"That will always be a concern of mine," Odin responded, tone carefully even, "but after being informed quite vehemently from multiple sources, I have come to the conclusion that I may have gone about things the wrong way."

Harry could no longer hold back his snort of derision. "You think?"

"I have failed you as both a king and a father, my actions were cruel and unjust and, as my grandson has already said once, motivated purely by my own subconscious prejudice. I can only hope that, one day, we may be able to work past what I have done to you, but in the meantime, I will be granting your children their rightful freedom to come and go as they please and, as recompense, you will be gifted a parcel of Asgardian land to do with as you see fit.

"I will have a map drawn up to show you where to find your new land, I will find some way to contact Jormungandr and Hela, and a contingent of guards will be sent out to release Fenris of his bonds."

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly, drawing the attention of the room's occupants. "Yeah, about that," he said. "In light of recent events, I have a bit of a…confession to make. Fenris is no longer on Lyngvi."

There was a collective intake of breath as three heads turned to Odin to take in his reaction. "I beg your pardon?" the Allfather inquired dangerously.

"I released Fenris from his bonds and returned to Midgard with him where we remained until we discovered my father was alive. When I came here he followed me, he's been on Asgard, in the forest just outside of the city, since I got here."

"You _let him go?_" Odin seemed torn between anger and curiosity. "How did you even know where to find him?"

"I told him," Frigga admitted. "When we last met, before we discovered Loki was still alive, he wished to know more about his siblings and I felt I at least owed him that. I didn't think he'd use that knowledge to free Fenris."

"You clearly don't know my son," Loki snorted.

"But Fenris' bonds were meant to be unbreakable," Frigga pointed out. "You should not have been able to free him."

"What can I say?" Harry said, shrugging nonchalantly. "I'm resourceful."

"How long has he been free?" Odin inquired.

"A month? Maybe two?" Harry said.

"And he's here now? In the forest?"

Harry nodded cautiously. "That's what I said."

"Has he not shown any interest in…" Odin hesitated, trying to find the best way to word his query.

"Eating you?" Harry finished for him. "No, he hasn't. You see, I just asked him not to and he agreed."

"I want to see him," Loki proclaimed. "Take me to him, Haraldr."

"What, now?"

"Yes, now." Loki rose from his seat. "Right now."

"Loki, hold," Odin said before his youngest could depart. "We have not finished."

"What is left to say? I do not forgive you. It will be years, perhaps decades before I could even consider trying, but…this is a start."

Odin's one good eye studied him for a long moment, then he sighed wearily and nodded his acceptance. "That is all I could ask for."

"I will return shortly for Sleipnir and this map. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go and speak with my eldest."

* * *

Loki's reckless, confident rage carried him all the way to the forest's edge before it suddenly died off and brought him to a screeching and complete halt. Harry, who had been waiting for this exact moment since they'd walked out on Frigga, Thor, and Odin, waited patiently for his father to voice whatever doubts were plaguing him. It didn't take long at all.

"How does he feel about me?" Loki asked. "Will he even want to see me?"

"He will, he_ does_," Harry said carefully, "he just doesn't know it yet. When we first met he was bitter and angry at you and Odin and pretty much all of Asgard for his predicament; being chained up on that island, with nowhere to go and no one to see for all of those years was terrible for him, mentally. But he's better now and I think he's beginning to understand that you were just as much a victim in all of this as he was."

"You're close then? Close enough to understand what he's thinking."

Harry hummed thoughtfully. "I wouldn't say close. I've not known him very long and he's not the most social of sort, but we've held a few conversations and with each one I feel as if I may understand him a little better."

"I'm afraid," Loki said. "Afraid that he'll want nothing to do with me. And why would he? Odin may have been the ones to have taken him, but I didn't search as long or fight near as hard as I could have."

"Do you honestly believe that would have made a difference?"

Loki shrugged half-heartedly, hesitated, then slowly shook his head. "No."

"Exactly, so stop dwelling on it. Besides, I already said Fenris doesn't blame you, not anymore at least, so the chances of him not wanting to at least meet you are slim to none. There's only one way we're going to know for certain though." Harry nodded his head in the direction of the forest.

"How do you even intend on finding him in all of this?" Loki asked, making his own gesture toward the acres of forest before them.

"Oh, we won't be finding him, the forest is much too large for that. No, we're going to go on a leisurely stroll through these here trees and let Fenris find _us_." Harry beckoned his father forward. "Come on now, we're losing daylight."

Loki only hesitated a moment longer before following Harry into the forest, where they carefully picked their way through gnarled roots and dense foliage. Neither of them could really be considered appropriately dressed for a foray through the woods, but they made do and continued on with a dogged determination.

"I have to ask," Loki said, a good mile into their hike, "what possessed you to seek out Fenris? "

Why him? Why then?"

Harry sighed and gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "After losing Draco, Luna, and you, I spent a lot of time wallowing in misery and self-loathing, I needed something to do, something _good _that didn't involve fighting dark wizard, so I came to find you," he explained. "After all the madness with the Jotuns and the Bifrost tearing apart the realm I was being imprisoned in, I made it here where I cast a spell that was meant to lead me to my closest blood relative, you. I hadn't known it at the time but you had already fallen, so instead if you it took me to the stables where I met Sleipnir completely by accident.

"After that encounter, I got it in my head to search for the others. I knew Jormungandr was already on Midgard, but I had no idea where to start looking, however, Frigga gave Fenris' location up easy, so I went to him. I hadn't intended on bringing him back with me, but when I found I could release him from his chains, there was no way I was just going to leave him."

"Why didn't you tell me he was here?"

"I didn't know if it was the right time, what with you working to break your conditioning and all. I didn't want to overwhelm you," Harry said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Loki said gently. "I'm not angry. You've been through so much and I wasn't there for any of it, and, for that, _I'm_ sorry."

Harry took his father's hand and squeezed it comfortingly. "The way I see it, we're all a little to blame for what happened. Yeah, if you hadn't tried to destroy Jotunheim, you wouldn't have fallen and wound up in Thanos' hands, but if I had just stayed put instead of running off in a foolish attempt to find you, I wouldn't have been captured by Laufey and you never would have thought me dead. However, if Odin hadn't been such a prejudiced old fool none of this would have happened. This wasn't your fault, not entirely. It took me a long time before I was even able to begin telling that to myself and even longer before I believed it, but it's true. This isn't your fault. I don't blame you for a single thing that happened."

Loki let out a weak little laugh. "You're too smart for your own good."

"Yeah, well _someone _has to be the brains of this operation, and since yours is a bit scrambled, that burden falls to me."

Loki's next laugh was happier, stronger, and called forth an answering smile from Harry; it had been far too long since he'd heard the sound. "You wear the burden well."

"Nevertheless, I'll be more than happy to shed it the very moment I'm allowed."

Harry and Loki fell into an easy silence after that; they trekked through the woods, content with their own thoughts until a sudden rustle of displaced foliage had the two men on their guard. They turned where they stood just in time to witness the abnormally large wolf that was Harry's half-brother materialize from a particularly dense patch of trees.

"Finally," Harry sighed. "I was wondering how much longer you'd have us walking around these woods. I brought a visitor."

Fenris' dark eyes flickered between Harry and Loki; the youngest of the three watched as his brother catalogued the similarities between him and Loki and quickly came to the conclusion as to who he was, but because he was still in his wolf form, Harry was unable to get a proper read on his reaction. However, considering the fact that Fenris had been seconds away from taking his head off when they'd first met, Harry felt as if they were off to a pretty good start.

"And I have news," Harry added. "Two piece of news actually, but they sort of go hand and hand." He risked a glance over at Loki who hardly seemed to be breathing as he greedily drank in the sight of his eldest son. "Odin knows you're here, as do Thor and Frigga. I told them this morning."

A low sound that wasn't quite a growl rumbled in Fenris' chest and his entire body tensed as if he were preparing to run.

"I told them completely on my own terms," Harry said quickly. "Or, all right, _mostly _on my own terms. I'm sorry I didn't come talk to you about it first, but I had to act fast. After being on pretty much everyone's shit list for the better part of two weeks, Odin has finally admitted to the error of his ways and declared you, Hela, Sleipnir, and Jormungandr are be freed from your respective prisons. Your exile is over and you are free to return to Asgard where you will be welcomed as you should have been all this time."

Fenris shifted uncertainly.

"He's not tricking you, he has no reason to," Harry hastened to soothe. "As far as he knew, you were still on Lyngvi, he had you exactly where he wanted you all; he has nothing to gain from this but his family's trust. Now change forms, so we might have a proper conversation."

Fenris didn't hesitate to oblige, easily shifting from wolf to man in a matter of seconds; a wave of Harry's wand conjured a pair of loose fitting trousers around his waist, protecting his modesty.

"Fen, hi, glad you could join us."

"Little Midgardian brother," Fenris greeted, then turned his wary gaze onto Loki. ""Father."

"Fenris," Loki said cautiously. "It's been a long time. How…how are you?"

"Better than I was before," Fenris responded curtly.

"I'm sorry, I wish I could have done more to stop Odin, to keep him from taking you."

"There is no need to be sorry," Fenris said. "I do not hate you and I no longer blame you for my imprisonment. There is a time where I did, where I felt as if you had abandoned me, I know now that you had no choice in the matter."

Loki blinked rapidly, he was at a loss for words so he settled with a simple but no less heartfelt, "_Thank you._"

Fenris nodded before his directing his attention to Harry. "You bring glad tidings, but I do not wish to return to the palace nor do I wish to live among our father's people. This one act has not erased the Allfather's misdeeds, he has not earned my forgiveness or my trust."

"You don't have to go back to the palace," Harry said, "you can stay here or, now that I'm no longer in danger of being locked up, you can go back to Midgard."

"Odin has gifted us our own land," Loki added, "as _recompense_, he says. You may live there if you wish."

"Where is this land?"

"I am not yet sure. The Allfather is drawing up a map as we speak, we will have to return to the city to retrieve it."

"I will remain here," Fenris said with a frown. "When you are through with your business in the city we may go and survey these lands."

Loki started in surprise. "You wish to go today?"

Fenris gave a noncommittal shrug as Harry glanced up at the sky. "We might as well, we've still got a few hours of daylight left. If we jump to it we just might make it before dark."

"All right then," Loki conceded, "let's _jump to it_."

After procuring assurances from Fenris that he would be waiting for their return at the forests' edge, Loki and Harry made the journey back to the palace where Odin, as promised, was waiting for them with a map drawing out the boundaries of their new lands. The Allfather was more than a bit disgruntled by the revelation that Fenris was living just outside of his city's boundaries, but he knew better than to rescind his promise of releasing Sleipnir lest he unleash Frigga, Thor, Loki, _and_ Harry's wrath, and so, once the map had been secured, he led them down to the stables where a recently released Sleipnir was waiting.

"I'm going to leave this one to you," Harry said, stopping a good dozen meters outside of the stables.

Loki raised a brow in surprise. "You don't wish to go in?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll see him soon enough, but I want to give you two a few minutes alone. Go on in, I'll wait out here for you."

"Very well, I'll try not to be too long."

"Take your time."

As Loki made his way into the stables, Harry began a slow circuit around the stable grounds, greeting the other horses with soft words and gentle fingers through silky manes. Job done, Odin left Loki and Harry to their own devices, off to do whatever it was Allfathers did when they weren't making their sons' lives miserable and generally being crotchety old bastards.

Loki didn't spend long in his second youngest's gilded prison; not even a quarter of an hour passed before he was ducking back out into the sunlight, Sleipnir's reins held loosely in his hands. Harry immediately crossed the grounds to greet his brother and quirk a questioning brow at his father.

"It went well," Loki said. "Sleipnir says we have you to thank for that."

"I just cleared up a few misconceptions," Harry shrugged. "Will you be joining us, brother?"

Sleipnir dipped his head in a movement that could only be a nod.

"If the land bequeathed to us proves to be suitable, he will be taking up residence there until we find somewhere more permanent."

"I'm sure Fenris will appreciate the company. Shall we be off?"

Their piece of land was conveniently located a fair distance outside of the city, just through the forest and tucked neatly around the side of the sprawling mountain range. The land was easily double the size of Hogwarts' grounds and covered mostly by a loosely packed forest, however, there was one clearing about as large as the Great Hall that Loki and his three son's stopped to rest in.

"I like it," Harry said. "It's nice and secluded, Fen and Sleipnir won't have to worry about anyone coming to bother them."

Loki hummed in agreement as he slowly walked along the edge of the clearing. "It is rather nice. Peaceful," he said thoughtfully. "What do you think of living here?"

"What? All four of us?" Harry asked in surprise.

Loki shrugged. "It's just something I've been considering," he said. "I've made amends with Thor, and Frigga and I are close to it, but being in that palace is oppressive, it has far too many bad memories. I could do with a fresh start, a home in which I can build my own memories."

Harry surveyed the clearing with a thoughtful gaze. "We'll have to take down a few more trees, widen the clearing a bit more, not to mention I know next to nothing about construction," he said, "but I'm not completely against the idea."

"I know a few people who owe me a favor or two. We'll get it done."

Harry nodded, quickly warming up to the idea. "How many rooms should we have?"

"We'll need at least twelve maybe thirteen bedrooms; for you and I, Fenris whenever he's feeling up to spending some time indoors, Hela and Jormungandr if we're ever able to get ahold of them, one for each of your friends for whenever they wish to visit, as well as any other visitors we may have," Loki listed. "Then, of course, Sleipnir will need his quarters, and we'll need a dining hall, as well as a library, a study or two, not to mention…"

Harry's brow's steadily rose higher and higher as Loki continued to name the numerous quarters their home absolutely _had_ to have. By the time he was through, Harry was convinced they would have to take down more than just a few trees, but yet the excitement the idea of this undertaking elicited didn't die down a bit.

"Does this mean you want me to stay here on Asgard with you?" he asked. "Permanently?"

Loki paused. "Is that something you'd be willing to do?"

"I've been contemplating where I belong," Harry said. "You know, on Asgard or Midgard, the wizarding world or the muggle world. Despite the less than pleasant circumstances surrounding my presence here, I've found myself enjoying Asgard, rather more than Midgard at the moment."

"There is something we'd have to address before you made the decision, however," Loki said, face twisting with a deep sort of anguish.

Harry frowned with worry. "What is it?"

"Your mortality."

"Oh, that," Harry sighed. "Is there still no way to figure that out? Other, I mean, than waiting a few decades to see if I grow old."

"I already know," Loki admitted bluntly. "I've known for over a year, but I chose to keep it a secret."

Harry felt something horribly like dread clench in his stomach. "You've known for so long? But why would you keep it a secret unless…unless it's bad news."

"You're mortal. Completely and irreversibly _mortal_," Loki spat bitterly. "I tried to change it, the day I disappeared and never came back, I went to the Norns and I begged them to change your fate. They're the most powerful being I know, if anyone could change your fate it was them."

"But they refused," Harry guessed.

"_That which is done cannot be undone_, they said. They were my only hope and they failed me."

"Okay."

"Pardon me?"

"I'm mortal and…I'm okay with it. I suppose a part of me has always suspected it, always been preparing for it, so it doesn't hit as heavy as it should have," Harry said calmly. "I'm mortal but that doesn't mean I'll drop dead tomorrow or the day after, I've got another century ahead of me, more if I'm careful."

"You say that as if a century will be enough."

Harry shrugged and looked ahead, this particular spot was perfect for their soon to be home as, past the sparsely littered trees, lay an uninhibited view of the sea of stars. "It'll have to be."

"Stop speaking as if you've given up," Loki said fiercely. "I most certainly haven't. You will not be dying, not now nor a century from now. You will have millennia."

"We mortals get very little say in the matter when the time comes," Harry said, the memory of those very same words being spoken what felt like years ago whisper soft on his lips, "it would be foolish for us to try and fight the inevitable."

Loki fixed Harry with a look of such livid determination a shiver of trepidation ran down the length his spine. "Watch me."

* * *

**A/N: What a chapter! Sif and the Warriors Three have been introduced, Harry's siblings have been freed, and the secret of Harry's mortality has finally been revealed to him, not to mention the majority of this chapter was (somewhat suspiciously) angst free. **

**In other news, Triumph is quickly drawing to a close, by my count there are only four chapters left (none of which have actually been written yet), but that doesn't by any means mean that everything will be sunshine and rainbows from now on. You all know me enough by now to realize that I like to end things with a bit of a bang.**


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